


Drifting Closer

by Lady_Spindle



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Angelo POV, Angst, Barbero is a salty hoe, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Drifting, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Familial Angst, Fighting, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pacific Rim AU, Revenge, Science Bros, and corteo, black market, i guess Angelo is also thirsty, mentions of depression, nero is thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Spindle/pseuds/Lady_Spindle
Summary: Pacific Rim AU for 91 Days.Set several months after Nero's drift partner, Vanno, died during a Kaiju battle. At his father's bidding he begins searching for a new drift partner. He finds promise in a young cadet, Avilio Bruno.  As he begins a tentative partnership with Avilio, Nero is pressured on all sides:  elevated Kaiju threats, the encroaching black market, his father's illness, and the dredged up past that should have died off many years ago...





	1. Drifting Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is aged up a bit so children aren't piloting Jaegers. Nero is 28, Avilio is 26, Frate is about 22.
> 
> Not Beta'd

“3 hits to one”, the cadet in the corner announces dispassionately as Nero deposits yet another potential drift partner onto the training room floor.

Nero is sweating, tired, and ready to call it quits.  None of these “candidates” have come close to matching his fighting style or skill level.

 _Not like Vanno had,_ he thinks bitterly.  But the shortage of pilots and the increase in Kaiju attacks is very real and not even the Marshall’s son is allowed more than a few months to mourn the untimely death of his drift partner before he’s back on the blue training mats, searching for a connection.

From the corner of the room, Grand Marshal Vincent Vanetti shakes his head in disapproval, “that will be all for the day.  You are all dismissed.”

The gaggle of trainees look reasonably disappointed but file out of the room.  Vincent shakes his head as he leaves.  It’s back to the drawing board for him, time to riffle through an endless stream of pilot applications, in the hopes that one might match his son.

Nero sighs and starts to untie his jumpsuit, fastened at the waist for the training exercise, when a voice startles him:

“You could have been taking all of them down much faster.”

It’s the cadet who had been making the calls, monotone as always.  He’s slim, dark haired with pale, almost delicate features.  He clutches a clipboard to his chest, standard issue jumpsuit just a bit too bulky on his frame.  Nero tries to recall a name…something like, Brunhild? Bruno?

While Nero ponders, the cadet has picked up a stave of his own, watching him with unblinking (and surprisingly _gold_ ) eyes.

He twirls his own stave, feeling something like a smile tug at his lips, “oh? Did you want to go a few rounds?”

“If you’re not too exhausted from trashing your potential drift partners,” he’s nonchalant, but before Nero can agree he has already begun shrugging off his jumpsuit, tying the sleeves at the waist as Nero had. The standard-issue T-shirt he wears underneath is also ill-fitting, but Nero wonders if it might not be the cadet’s attempt to appear weaker, less-threatening than he really is.  His bare alabaster arms betray lean muscle, taught and primed to fight.

They circle one another, exchanging a few cautionary blows.

“Remember, this isn’t a fight, it’s a dialogue, blah blah blah,” Nero drops into a lower stance and lunges.

The cadet ducks his blow, barely ruffled.

“What’s your name?” Nero asks.

“Avilio Bruno.”

They cross staves for a tense second before Avilio ducks down and tries to kick out Nero’s feet.

“You’ve only been here a week or so, right?” Nero jumps out of range and delivers a quick riposte which is seamlessly blocked to his pleasant surprise.

“Yes.”  His eyes narrow in concentration.

“How do you like it here? The food’s not terrible, we just got a new chef, Fango, I think,” Nero narrowly avoids a swift jab from Avilio.

“He certainly enjoys lasagna,” he says dryly.

Nero feels a grin pull at the corner of his mouth again.  It still feels wrong to smile so close to Vanno’s… But he can’t help it.  Something has inexplicably drawn him to this surly young cadet.

They exchange a couple more casual blows, more clacking staves together than anything before Avilio stops still, tension running in palpable lines through his body.

“Are you done playing, Vanetti? Or are you going to show me what you’re made of.”

The way this Avilio looks at him while he speaks is electrifying.  Nero is either about to get his ass-kicked, or get shoved up against the nearest wall and thoroughly kissed.  He is surprisingly ok with either option.

Avilio chooses the former and launches himself into a series of attacks that Nero barely can keep up with.  He scores the first point, Avilio snags the next two, then Nero again.  He scores a third and is about to call the match when his feet are swept out from under him, a much faster, much more calculated attack than before.  He lands hard on his back on the training mats, winded, and before he can toss up a defense, Avilio is on him, one hand braced flat against his chest, the other using the stave to pin both Nero’s wrists above his head, his legs pinned between his thighs.

“Three all,” Avilio says triumphantly, breathless.  His expression is open and dangerous, eyes practically glowing in the shadow of his bangs.  Nero can only stare, breathing hard for a handful of reasons.

They stay suspended in this heated space, Nero unable to move and Avilio seemingly unwilling. Then, as quickly as he’d come, Avilio hops back to his feet, leaving a void around Nero in his absence.  Unaffected, he replaces the sleeves on his jumpsuit and buttons the front.

Nero comes to his senses. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Avilio, picking up his clipboard, deadpans, “I have to complete a certain number of simulation hours.”

Nero shakes his head, grinning wide, “No you don’t.”  He grabs Avilio’s wrists, sending the clipboard clattering to the floor, “we’ve got to tell my- the Grand Marshall.”

“Why?” Avilio raises a single eyebrow.

“You’re going to be my drift partner.”

* * *

 

"Absolutely not," he snaps his wrists free.

"Why not?" Nero counters

"I'm only a cadet, I don’t have the skills nor the experience to even be considered- “

"That’s not true-you don’t act like some greenhorn cadet-you move like someone who's been around Jaegers their whole life," Nero puts his arm out, pressed against the door effectively barring Avilio's exit. "My answer is still no,” he deadpans sourly.

"Listen. In a few weeks mine and-my Jaeger, the _Goliath_ , will be repaired. I need to have a partner and we are drift compatible." he shakes his head as though incredulous, "what more do you need?”

"How are you so sure we are a good match Ranger Vanetti?" Avilio attempts to circumvent Nero who slides bodily in front of the door.

"We won't know for sure until we try. Train together, get to know one another better. Will you at least give it a chance?" Avilio's expression changes subtly-to something like... intrigue. He takes a step forward until he is fully in Nero's space.

“And... if I still have my doubts?" He looks up through half lidded, sultry eyes.

All smile tugs at Nero's mouth for the second time, "guess I have the next few weeks to change your mind,” He moves out of the way of the door and Avilio slips through, casting a single glance over his shoulder.

"I'll go talk to the marshal right away," Nero calls after him. He shrugs on his sweatshirt feeling giddy, still coming down from the high of finding a drift connection.

 Vincent taps the grainy ID photo of Avilio Bruno while Nero anxiously shifts from foot to foot.   
“He has only been at the Shatterdome for a week, you realize?”

“Yes but…there’s something about him…” Nero shakes his head, “I definitely feel a connection.”

“He was reluctant to be your co-pilot?” Nero nods, “do you think you should reconsid-“ Vincent breaks off, coughing roughly. He doubles over his desk, wheezing, while his hands scrabble for a tiny tin in his front pocket. Nero turns his head aside, knowing his father hates anyone to see the state he is in. Vincent composes himself quickly after the episode passes, swallows a pill, wipes away the blood dripping from his nose.

“Are…is the medicine helping?” Nero asks, feeling like a small child asking the doctors if his mother would ever recover from Kaiju poisoning.

Vincent exhales deeply and sits straighter in his chair.  He is the Grand Marshal, the untouchable anchor.  “It is staving off the inevitable.”

It isn’t what Nero wants to hear, but it’s about as good as he expected.  After Vincent’s drift partner Testa died nearly fourteen years ago, he had run solo missions despite cautionary research warning of the debilitating neurological effects.  When Nero had turned fourteen, he received clearance to become a pilot, the youngest ever. He and his father had run one mission together before the resident doctors forbade Vincent from drifting again.  The neurological stress would kill him. 

“Are you certain you want to go through with training with this new partner? I know I pushed you to search…but it’s still so close to Vanno…you could take more time to-“

“To what? To mourn? The kaiju aren’t stopping just because I have,” Nero says bitterly.

“We still have Volpe and Tigre, and your brother has been making great progress with Ronaldo.”

“I…don’t know…I can still be a pilot, so I should do it,” Nero runs a hand anxiously through his hair, “part of me thinks I won’t be able to clear my mind until I’m in a Jaeger again.”

Vincent nods slowly, “very well.  I will have the Bruno boy transferred into the living unit across from yours.  For the indeterminate future, the two of you will train together daily and otherwise have identical schedules. You’ll either bond as drift partners, or want to kill each other.” Vincent shrugs, “either way it will test your compatibility and afford plenty of opportunities to train.”

Nero salutes, “thank you, sir.”

He exits the office and traces a familiar path to his living quarters. Before dinner in the mess hall, he really ought to get cleaned up from an afternoon of sparring.  He peels off his sweatshirt, then undershirt and regards his appearance.  He could do to trim his beard back to his signature goatee, maybe he’ll feel up to it fairly soon.  Ever present are a series of scars across his chest and back, identical to the ones his father has sported for as long as he can remember.  His father’s are a testament to his willingness to participate in the first generation of solo pilots when the physical and psychological risks were not well understood.  Nero’s scars are a cruel reminder of the day he slogged over a hundred miles alone in the _Goliath_ before collapsing on the Canadian shore, mere hours after Vanno, his closest friend and drift partner, had been torn from the Jaeger.  He had to undergo extensive testing to see if solo-piloting had permanently ruined his ability to safely drift.  It hadn’t.  The only thing that had been ruined was his oldest friendship.

Initially his search for a new partner was cursory, ordered by his father. Nero had gone through the motions feeling horrible, as if he could ever replace Vanno, as if finding a new partner could erase the hurt.

No, not all the pain.  But some, maybe enough.  Avilio took him by surprise, he might even feel…optimistic.

Behind him, the door creaks open, he must have forgotten to completely close it-“

“Oh,” a voice behind him stammers.

He turns to see Avilio, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“The room across the hall,” Nero supplies helpfully.

He says nothing and shuffles away quickly. 

A stupid grin has taken root on Nero’s face.  Avilio’s calculating gaze had felt something like being a specimen under a microscope, slowly dissected surrounded by cold white fluorescence. But Nero was not lost on the way he raked his eyes over the scene in spite of Nero’s state of undress before carefully schooling his face back into a neutral expression. It’s a bit of a relief to find that the attraction, at least at a surface level, is more or less mutual.

* * *

 

The next few weeks fly by in a blur of routine: Nero and Avilio spend every waking moment together, training, doing cleaning duty, and eating Fango’s surprisingly good lasagna in the mess hall.  They are rarely more than ten feet from one another, except when they bid goodnight and part ways to their quarters.

Avilio continues to fascinate Nero.  He originally thought the young man’s taciturn nature was shyness, or possible hesitance due to suddenly being shuffled from the status of cadet to pilot-in-training, with the Marshall’s son, no less.  An irrational part of Nero wondered if Avilio was one of his fans and secretly had an embarrassing fanboy crush on him, resulting in his reserved behavior.

This particular theory was dashed very early on, Avilio knew next to nothing about his piloting pedigree, and had little interest in status, for which Nero was grateful.  The last thing he needed was some starry-eyed newbie looking at him like he was something special and not a reckless, stupid excuse of a pilot. 

Their dynamic is unusual, with Nero having an easygoing, friendly nature that put people at ease, by contrast Avilio is an immensely private person.  He is by no means ill at ease around other people, but seems to prefer to remove himself from the situation to observe from a detached vantage point – he would hopefully be a good anchor for Nero.

If he could complain, which he really couldn’t, it would only be that he wishes he could coax Avilio out of his carefully guarded shell a bit more.  He barely speaks more than a few words to Nero on a given day, and Nero has some concerns that his reluctance to reach out could impact their compatibility.

The only person Avilio does seem to willingly talk to is one of the head scientists, Corteo.  Nero happened to pass the laboratory while they conversed in hushed tones inside.  It was then that everything makes sense, why Avilio converses regularly with the scientist, and particularly why Corteo seems to deeply dislike Nero.

He reflects at dinner while watching with strange fascination as Avilio hacked apart his lasagna, stuffing massive pieces into his mouth.

“So…you and Corteo?” Nero asks, feeling again a deep pang of disappointment.

Avilio looks up from his food as though inconvenienced, “what about it?”

“The two of you are…friends,” Nero wants the confirmation to come directly from him.

“We are…friendly.  But I wouldn’t say friends,” Avilio takes another outrageous bite.  For someone with as delicate features as he, the young man certainly has a crass manner to him.

“You mean you’re not..?” Nero claps his hands together.

Avilio sends him a particularly withering look.

“We were childhood friends. We haven’t spoken since then until I came to the Shatterdome, it has been 14 years.  So no, we are not,” he mimics Nero’s hand gesture.

“He has a crush on you,” Nero insists.

He exhales through his nose, “yes. He does.  But he knows that I have no interest in reciprocating those feelings. I don’t see how this is relevant to our ability to drift together.”

“I feel I should know at least something about your personal self, since you disclose so little,” Nero grins at him, hoping to draw out a similar reaction.

“Shared experiences are more important than knowing each other’s pasts,” he deadpans.

“But still, I’d like to know more about you,” he leans on his elbows over the table.

Avilio puts down his fork and mirrors Nero’s posture, leaning close.

“No you don’t.”

He then stabs a piece of _Nero’s_ lasagna, stuffs it in his mouth, and bolts with his tray to the dishes drop off area.

Nero feels a little deflated by Avilio’s constant blocking of his attempts, but he’s also singing the praises internally.  Avilio isn’t, and won’t be, interested in Corteo.

This, reasonably explains the salty behavior the high ranking scientist has been displaying towards Nero, knowing that he has been _billeted_ to spend as much time with Avilio as possible.

He picks up his tray and follows in Avilio’s wake.  Next time he passes Corteo in the hall, he’ll do his best not to rub it in.

* * *

 

It would have brought Vincent Vanetti nothing but pride had his two sons been drift partners. Nero knows this. But to his dismay, by the time Frate had been old enough to pilot, he and Nero had grown far enough apart to render their fraternal bond useless in the drift. Perhaps he would have spent more time trying to salvage the relationship with his younger brother had Nero anticipated this result. Between their mother's death at a young age for Frate and his father’s perceived favoritism towards Nero... the rift ought to have been predicted. ... But it still hurts like a goddamn bitch that the person Fate can drift with is a Gallassias.

The Galassias family has their hands in almost every pocket pertaining to the Jaeger business. War profiteering, is all they are really doing. It is well known that the Galassias also run the illicit trade of Kaiju parts. Their monopoly across the board has threatened the Jaeger program's existence. Ronaldo Galassias has only been allowed into the Shatterdome un-punched by Nero because the cousin of the head of the family is a peace offering, in the hopes Marshal Vanetti and the Galassias can find a way to cooperate for mutual benefit.

Ronaldo could have been a saint and Nero would have still wanted to beat him repeatedly into the training room mats. As it stands, he is an arrogant prick and Nero hates that he has to be compatible with his little brother. He finds himself in the mess hall again, across from the two of them. Avilio is mushed beside him, packed on the table with too many other people (not that he is ever opposed to being close to Avilio, even if it is a forced circumstance). The warmth from his thigh pressed firmly against Nero's grounds him, and the cramped space that causes him to negotiate shoulder space has prevented Nero from lunging across the tube to throttle Ronaldo, at least twice. The bags under Frate’s eyes are more pronounced than usual, but it seems reasonable as within the first few weeks of being on active duty he has been a part of two Kaiju take-downs (one by the Volpe-Tigre duo, one by Frate and Ronaldo).

Nero watches their interactions with increasing irritation. Seeing how Frate practically worships Ronaldo, and how his little brother preens under the attention given him.

"Isn't that right Frate? You got your first confirmed Kaiju kill before your big brother," Ronaldo shoots Nero a look meant to piss him off. It works. He leans forward, ready to lay in to this asshole when Avilio smoothly blocks him with his own shoulder.

"Hmm, it's not every day you see an ass pretending he's a lion…"

"What did you say to me?" Ronaldo lunges as far as he can across the table. Nero instinctively places himself between Avilio and the potential threat.

"Nothing," Avilio looks unaffected, "It’s just rare to see a sheep in a wolf’s clothing for a change.”

Ronaldo looks like he could tear Avilio limb from limb, but dually notes that his behavior is earning him an audience. Grumbling, he grabs his tray and leaves. Nero laughs and slings his arm over Avilio shoulders, sending him an appreciative look. Still tense as ever, Avilio accepts the gesture. He seems content to be nestled up against Nero. Across the table, Frate slams down his tray.

"Why are you like this? Why won’t you just let me have this?" He storms away, presumably to rejoin Ronaldo. Nero feels a pit in his stomach. A handful of engineers around them are hooting after Frates retreating form, punching his and Avilio's shoulders in a congratulatory manner.

* * *

 

All is well in the Shatterdome over the course of the next week, no mean achievement when Kaiju events had grown to nearly a weekly basis. Nero spends his days alongside Avilio, working in tandem.  It has become so natural to seek out the other’s presence that Nero finds it somewhat jarring to be apart for long periods of time…

Even when it meant Nero repeatedly getting flung to the ground and battered during their sparring. Particularly ruthless for today, Avilio seemed to continually find new and creative ways to knock his feet out from under him and send him sprawling on the mats.

After being viciously disarmed, knocked off balance, and pinned, Nero lay winded on his back.

“Jeez Avilio, this is about developing a dialogue, not destroying me,” he laughs.

“Then maybe you should try to keep up,” he looks stonily down at Nero, grinding the end of his stave into the mats.

Nero rolls into a sitting position, hugging his knees while he regained his breath, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Avilio freezes mid-motion, “nothing.”

“C’mon, something’s gotta be bothering you…I know you’re not the friendliest person but something is definitely off.”

The other man begins rolling the stave between his palms, avoiding looking at Nero.  He knows well enough now that if he doesn’t offer a valid response Nero will start asking prodding questions until he pries the answer from Avilio.

He exhales loudly and clarifies, “It’s nothing that will affect our drift compatibility.”

“So…something from that tight-locked past of yours?” Nero infers.

Avilio continues tossing the stave between his hands, agitated, “something like that.”

“Did you leave a family behind to come here? A lot of young cadets like yourself do.”

“My family is dead,” he blurts, finally stilling the nervous movement of the stave, “have been, since I was twelve.”

“Avilio I’m so sorry,” Nero reaches forward as though to comfort him but the young man steps away.

“Are we here to talk or to train?” he scowls.

Nero rolls to his feet, “right, of course.”

They circle each other for tense seconds before Avilio lunges with his stave with unnecessary aggression.

“Your whole family…when you were twelve?” Nero pries gently, absorbing Avilio’s lunge with a clean riposte.

“My father died in a freak accident,” he aims a sweeping kick at Nero’s ankles, “my mother and brother a few weeks later in a Kaiju attack.”

Dodging, Nero attempts to disarm Avilio, “in a Kaiju attack?  That’s horrible.”

Avilio shakes him off and opts to take a double handed swing at Nero with his stave.  The other man catches the obvious line of motion and blocks the blow.  The crack of wood on wood is deafening and sends unpleasant vibrations up and down Nero’s arms.

“The Jaeger didn’t make it on time.”

Nero takes the revelation in stride though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He disarms Avilio but by then the other man has driven him into a corner. He grasps Nero’s stave and forces the bar back horizontally, pressing him against the wall.

“It makes sense then, why you came here,” Nero says breathlessly.  Avilio’s hands clench tighter against the wood, tendons straining white even against his pale skin. “You want revenge on the monsters that killed your family.”

Avilio’s eyes are narrow slits of gold when he answers,” _yes_ ”.

Nero releases the stave and places his hands on Avilio’s shoulders, squeezing gently, “Don’t worry. Soon we’ll be out there killing those bastards. Your family won’t have died in vain.”

For perhaps the second time since meeting Nero, Avilio gives him a most curious look, intrigued, but surprised, soft around the edges.  He drops the stave to the ground.

“I think we’ve had enough training for today, hm?” Nero nudges Avilio with his shoulder, their bare skin sticking together from the thin sheen of perspiration, “Lets get cleaned up.”

In the locker room they shower in stalls kitty corner from one another, conspicuously spaced for decency. Nero needs to stop thinking about how Avilio is _super naked_ only a few stalls away from him because wow does he ever need to hit the brakes on these thoughts otherwise the first time they drift might shape up to the second or third most embarrassing moment of Nero’s life.

“What went wrong with you and Frate?” Avilio asks, causing Nero to whip his head around.  Usually he’s the one asking personal questions. He catches a glimpse of Avilio’s head and shoulders, just enough time to appreciate the pale clean lines of his collar bones and neck tendons poking out against the bare expanse of his alabaster skin, studded with glimmering water droplets.

“A lot of things ‘went wrong’ with us I guess,” he answers honestly, focusing his energy on rinsing his hair and _not_ objectifying his drift partner.  Frate was a sobering subject.  “I never did anything to try to fix it, and now I can’t help but wonder if it’s just too little too late for us, if anything can salvage whatever semblance of brotherly bond we could have had.”

Silence from the other shower stall other than the stream of water. “I’m sorry I asked,” Avilio mumbles.

“Don’t be, it’s just…I just wish I could have a second chance with him,” Nero shuts off the water.

They dress in silence for several long, hollow minutes.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” Avilio murmurs, tugging his sweatshirt over his head.

Nero stares a moment, confused by the bluntness of his statement before rambling, “You’re right…I should talk to him…I should…maybe we can work things out, just a start.  Will you…will you…come with me?” Nero looks plaintively at Avilio, expecting him to say no, because he seems like that sort of “tough love” kind of person but the other man hesitates a second, then nods. Nero feels something terribly pleasant squeeze in his chest. He steals glances over his shoulder as he heads to the units where Frate lives, and seeing Avilio trailing closely behind, he isn’t certain he possesses the words to express his gratitude.

The feeling fades the moment he rounds the corner to Frate’s room. The door is half-swung open, and Ronaldo is in the doorway, speaking in hushed, frantic tones.

“What’s going on, where’s Frate?” Nero demands.

“This isn’t a good time,” Ronaldo snaps.

“Not a good time? To see my own brother?” he feels his temper come to a boil.

Thankfully Avilio, collected as always, steps toe to toe with Ronaldo and orders, “move.”

Despite being half a head taller, Ronaldo moves. 

Nero bolts into his brother’s room in time to hear Frate’s weak voice, “Ronaldo? What’s going on?”

Frate looks worse than before, pale and shaking with even more pronounced bags under his eyes.

“What’s happened to you?” Nero demands, tactless in the presence of white hot fear for his brother’s safety.

Face twisting in irritation, Frate ignores his brother and tries to step towards the door, but immediately he falls, landing hard. Nero is by his side in a second, noticing with a pang of terror that Frate’s eyes are rolled white, his arms jerking involuntarily.

“He’s seizing,” Ronaldo barks and pushes his way into the room.

And that’s the final straw for Nero, who has already tolerated enough of Ronaldo Galassias without retaliation. He winds back to lay into Ronaldo when Avilio’s voice cuts through to him like a bucket of icy water.

“Lay him on his back and keep him out of range of the bed and furniture,” he orders coolly. “If he looks like he might vomit turn him on his side otherwise he could suffocate.”

Nero and Ronaldo obey.

“And Nero…get a doctor.”

He blanches, “No, send Ronaldo, he’s of no help here.”

Avilio’s hand clamps onto his shoulder, “do you trust him to actually get a doctor? I can’t go because I can’t trust the two of you to not beat each other up while I’m gone.”

Nero stares up at him from where he kneels by his brother’s side and concedes.  He races out the door to the nearest paging phone and declares a medical emergency. 

The next half hour passes in a blur: Frate being wheeled away on a stretcher, shakily explaining to the medical staff the condition he found Frate in, waiting with and Avilio in the emergency room waiting area while Frate underwent diagnosis and treatment, finding out Ronaldo had disappeared from the Shatterdome shortly after the incursion.

All the while Avilio has been beside him, a hand on his elbow, standing close enough that their shoulders brush. He would never have kept his cool this long without his quiet reassurances.

They’ve been in the waiting room for hours and Nero’s stomach had begun to protest.  Since he refused to leave until Frate was stable, Avilio brought him some supper that he could barely stomach.

The doctors finally emerge with the head scientists Corteo and Cerotto in their wake.  They calmly inform Nero that his brother is stable but he will be in a clinically induced coma for the time being until they can thoroughly flush his system. The substance, Cerotto reports, is derived from effervescent Kaiju fluids and is widely believed throughout the black market to increase one’s drift compatibility.

Nero takes in the information numbly, hating himself for being so caught up in self-pity over Vanno that he hadn’t noticed his own brother’s suffering. Dazed, he takes his seat in the waiting room again until Avilio starts tapping his shoulder.

“Nero… _Nero_ , I asked the nurses. You can’t spend the night in the medical bay,” he says gently, “you have to go back to your room.”

He groans and gets to his feet, back sore from sitting in the unforgiving waiting room chairs for the better part of the day.  Avilio waits and watches patiently until Nero begins to walk towards the door to follow alongside him.

When they reach his unit Avilio pauses before walking to his own.

“If you need anything tonight, just knock, I’ll be here.”

Without thinking Nero grabs one of his hands, pressing it between his palms. He’s too emotionally drained to verbally express his gratitude, but maybe this can count as a start.  Avilio surprised him today.

“You’re very sweet,” Nero says softly, “more so than you wish for others to see.”

Avilio had frozen the moment Nero took his hand and remained so, eyes wide, looking more at the floor than Nero.

He releases his hand and chuckles weakly. The young man pulls back his hand and clasps his other hand over top, backing up towards his unit as he does.  Nero turns around and unlocks his door, he doesn’t need to check behind him to know Avilio is watching intently.

* * *

 

Nero’s least favorite alarm came in the form of someone pounding on his door at who-knows-o’clock-in-the-morning.  It reminds him too much of the odd hours he and Vanno would have to wake up to fight Kaiju.  Mostly of the last time.  And the memories are enough to keep him unwilling to move from his cot for a solid couple minutes. 

Barbero is at the door, and is relentless.  Nero has nothing against him, but because the knocking is before his set alarm it’s way too fricking early to do anything.

The pounding is getting irritating so Nero drags himself out of bed, tugs on a tank top, and opens the door.

“What?” he groans when the too-bright florencence in the hallway momentarily blinds him.

“It’s a message directly from the Marshal,” Barbero says stiffly, “You and Mr. Bruno are to report to the hanger immediately for a test drift.”

“Why?” Nero has his forearm over his eyes, it’s too early, too bright, too much.

Barbero hesitates, “seeing as we are down to one pair of Jaeger pilots, and the _Goliath_ has recently finished being repaired, I’m assuming Marshal Vanetti is hoping to move you and Mr. Bruno to active pilot duty.”

His forehead creases.  It’s only been a day since Frate…there’s never time in this goddamn Shatterdome to _breathe_.

“Yeah, ok, whatever, I’ll wake up Avilio,” he grumbles, hoping to buy a few minutes of quiet.

“No need,” the man in question’s voice makes both of them jump. Avilio stands in the hallway, fully dressed and unruffled.

Nero sighs, “ ‘morning Avilio.”

He nods curtly, “Morning Nero, Barbero.” The latter regards him with disdain.

“Did you sleep alright, Nero?” Avilio asks, likely noting the obvious purple bags under Nero’s eyes.

“No, but it’s fine,” he rubs his eyes as Avilio brushes effortlessly past Barbero to stand toe to toe with Nero, nearly touching.

In an odd show of affection, Avilio places his hands on Nero’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs under his collarbones. “You sure you’re alright?” he murmurs.  Behind him, Barbero’s face is more pinched than usual. He probably had to wake up even earlier, poor guy.

“Alright is a bit of a stretch, but I’ll manage,” Nero reassures, “Let’s go, best to not keep the Marshal waiting too long.”

They walk down the narrow corridor side by side, and occasionally the back of Avilio’s hand brushes Nero’s.  It is a lovely perk. As they round a bend, Nero notices Avilio cast a slight smile back at Barbero, forced to walk a few paces behind due to the corridor’s dimensions.  Nero is glad to see he’s making an effort to be friendlier.

* * *

 

Suiting up takes some time, with Avilio needing adjustments made to his brand new suit. He looks perfect encased in the smooth black panels of the Jaeger suit.  Their weeks of training have paid off, and the Jaeger suit finally accentuates the raw, lithe power in his slim form, a weapon coiled tight and ready to strike.

Avilio is staring back at Nero, they both seem to realize simultaneously, and avert their gazes.

“You look good,” Avilio mutters.

“Hm, what was that?” Nero prods, having heard him just fine.

The withering look he receives is enough to remind him not to push his luck.

They board the elevator up to the cockpit of the _Goliath_.

Nero fidgets before blurting, “when we drift it’s going to hurt.  You’ll…you’re going to see my last mission with Vanno, and feel what I felt…”

Avilio presses his gloved hand to Nero’s elbow, “It’s ok.  Whatever happens I can handle it.”

He smiles gratefully and teases, “just don’t chase the rabbit, then I might get to see more of your locked-tight past.”

The younger man rolls his eyes as the door slides open.

The minutes pass with mounting anticipation as the duo is strapped in.  From the command deck, Nero’s Uncle Ganzo and Barbero man the coms and initiate a neural handshake.

“Neural handshake ready to go on my mark,” Barbero intones.

“Ready to roll boys?” Ganzo roars a bit too loudly into the com.

Nero and Avilio nod, raising their right arms in tandem.

“Launching in 3…2…1-”

With a jolt, the outside world falls away, replaced by the blue haze of the drift, it’s jarring for Nero, but also a bit like coming home.

Until the memories hit.

Vaguely aware of his outside surroundings, Nero sees Avilio’s brow furrowed, jaw clenched. The wave of recollection crashes over Nero and it’s happening again: _the Kaiju was dead, he and Vanno were going home, bantering with one another as they waded.  The Kaiju was alive, its serpentine form shooting out of the waves like a missile, jaw unhinging to clamp onto the left side of the Jaeger.  He and Vanno lurch forward, taken off guard.  Nero winds up the right arm to slice the Kaiju free but the brief moment of time gained by the sneak attack is all the Kaiju needs to tear a mouthful free.  And Nero hesitates.  He thinks it’s just taking the arm they can live witout the arm once the Kaiju is detached he’ll have more mobility to give a clean decisive hit – but it’s not – it’s not just the arm – the helmet of the_ Goliath _warps and peels back in strips where the Kaiju has latched on “Nero what are you waiting for-“ Vanno shouts a moment before the arm and left half of the cockpit are torn from the jaeger. Nero blinks and he’s gone. The cockpit is torn open and he’s alone, the neural load falls on him and burns him through his jaeger suit and it burns his mind because he feels everything from Vanno’s fear until the moment there’s nothing and he’ll take the fear – any thought at all – over nothing. His memory breaks up from there, shuddering images of grayed out waves where he slogged, pace by pace, until a shoreline comes into view and he can finally collapse, hours past the point of exhaustion._

_The medical bay, his upper body swathed in bandages, his father standing in the corner, eyes heavy with sadness, holding a cloth discreetly to his nose, doctors swarm around Nero._

_“Good news Ranger Vanetti, you can still drift.”_

_He catches a glimpse of his reflection.  Sunken eyes, unstyled hair, uneven stubble.  What’s the point he wants to scream when there’s-_

From outside Barbero is shouting at them, telling Nero to stop chasing the rabbit, it’s throwing their connection out of balance blah blah blah…

Avilio is beside him now, looking dazed, and Nero remembers he’s never drifted with anyone before. 

_And of course for his first time he gets to drift with Nero, who despite what the charts might suggest is probably too broken to drift again-_

_“Nero”_

He turns his head and it’s still not Vanno beside him but Avilio is calling his name, begging him to…not to let go…just to cope, hold himself together long enough to keep the connection stable.  He’s been working towards this for weeks now.  Avilio deserves this much.

Ganzo’s voice crackles through the intercom, “that’s better boys, just hold this and the handshake will stabilize nicely.”

Nero smiles at Avilio, who offers a vague semblance of a smile.

Things go downhill from there.

Avilio’s eyes widen suddenly and Nero feels the handshake shift wildly to Avilio’s side.  He falls headfirst down the rabbit hole.

_He is so very young in the first batch of memories, walking through a ruined city, clutching a single shoe to his chest.  Avilio has the same haircut as he does now, but his face is rounder and soft, tears making pale rivulets through the grime on his skin. Behind him is a transporter train, derailed and destroyed._

_“Mama?! Luce!?” he screams over and over again but there is only silence. Until there isn’t. A chilling shirek of a Kaiju breaks the silence.  Avilio starts to cry a fresh wave of tears but sprints to the nearest alleyway, wedging himself on the filthy ground behind a dumpster.  He presses his face into his knees to muffle his sobs, still clutching the shoe._

_Nero waits for the Jaeger to come and rescue him._

_It doesn’t come._

_From that memory he’s dragged through a montage of Avilio’s life: a quiet sullen boy shuffled from foster home to foster home until he ran away and lived on the streets…another flash forward, he’s holding a letter but the scene changes before Nero can read it.  The memories get clearer as they grow more recent.  Avilio arguing in hushed tones with Corteo in the science bay, “what do you mean you’re here for revenge?” the scientist accuses, “What happens when you have to drift with him?”_

_Avilio, watching Ronaldo pass Frate a vial of effervescent fluid, “it will help our nueral connection,” Ronaldo’s voice is muffled and warped._

_Avilio, looking at Vincent Vanetti with raging, unadulterated loathing._

_Then at Nero, and with it comes a crash of hatred, revulsion, confusion…a mangled mess of emotions that Nero can’t begin to process before the connection is abruptly cut off._

“Sorry boys, we’re going to need to give that another try later today,” Ganzo’s voice feels like it’s coming through a heavy cotton wall.

“Copy that,” Nero hears himself say.  He hasn’t been able to tear his eyes away from Avilio. 

He looks like he might be physically ill, sagging against the tethers of his Jaeger suit. He looks at Nero, eyes dull gold, brimming with distress.

They are untethered from the jaeger, suits removed, and the whole time Avilio stares at the ground.  He knows Nero knows.  And it takes all of Nero’s paper thin composure to wait until they begin heading back to their units before confronting him. Nero motions for Ganzo to follow him out.

The moment they’re alone Nero grabs Avilio and slams him into the nearest wall, gripping his collar.

“You knew about Frate?!” he yells.

“Yes.”

“He could have died!”

“That was the point,” Avilio deadpans, eyes cold and listless.

“You wanted him dead?!” And it clicks for Nero, “not just him…my father…and me too.”

Avilio says nothing.

“That’s why you didn’t want to drift with me – because I’d find out about your plan…” Nero shakes his head, his whole body trembles with rage, “why? What could you possibly have against us?”

Emotion finally sparks to the surface. “Fourteen years ago,” Avilio snarls, “my family was set up.  The train evacuating us was _targeted_ by the Kaiju.  The Jaeger that was supposed to protect us _left._ We didn’t stand a chance.”

Ganzo finally catches up to them, “Nero, what is going on?”

“I hereby place Ranger Bruno under arrest,” Nero says numbly.

“What for?” Ganzo pants.

“He knew about what Ronaldo was giving Frate and did nothing.  He was planning on killing my father…and me,” his voice breaks a little at the end. 

Ganzo’s eyes widen, “I’ll have a holding cell prepared immediately.

He disappears down the hallway leaving Nero alone with Avilio.

The younger man makes no move to try to escape.  Nero can’t tell if it’s because he’s still shaken up from the drift or because he has accepted that he won’t be able to flee the Shatterdome without being caught.

If he’s being honest with himself, Nero feels like crying.  He put a whole lot of hopes onto Avilio – seeing in him a friend, someone he could share his mind and life with, someone he could rely on and trust implicitly. 

 _Was any of it real?_ Nero wants to scream at him. He’d like to believe it was, that some of Avilio’s actions had been genuine (but did that make it hurt more? That he might have felt a flicker of care for Nero and still chosen to betray him?)

Nero watches Avilio’s cold, unwavering expression.  He could very well have faked the whole thing.

It doesn’t take long for Ganzo to return.  They hand-cuff Avilio and lead him to one of the lower cell blocks, reserved for deserters and traitors.

* * *

 Avilio sits in a folding chair in the cell facing the bars.  Nero mirrors him on the other side.

After long tense minutes Nero breaks down and asks, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“You’ve already seen everything.  I don’t believe there is anything _to_ say,” Avilio shrugs.

“Yes there is! I want to know why! I want to know if any of this meant anything to you! If _I_ meant anything to you!” He’s on his feet now, hands curling around the bars.

He slowly rises to his feet to meet Nero at the bars, “you didn’t”. At least he has the decency to look Nero in the face as he speaks.

It’s as though he can see the carefully constructed layers fall away from Avilio, the snark, the easy comradery, the silent support, the patient determination. All a façade, manufactured to lure in Nero, sink his hooks deep into his skin.  Now all that’s left is the shadow of a person, a husk kept moving with the sole purpose of revenge.

 “Why not kill me then, you had plenty of opportunities,” Nero hisses, grasping uselessly at a semblance of composure.

Avilio sinks back down into the chair, heels of his hands pressed into his forehead.

“I needed to get close to you so I could get to your father,” he shrugs, all apathy.

Nero feels the anger coil in him, ready to spring free, hating the man in front of him and hating himself for falling for him every step of the way. He’s too pulled open and raw, painfully aware that Ganzo is overhearing every bit of their conversation -

 “Alright, that’s enough,” Ganzo claps both hands onto Nero’s shoulders and begins to peel him away from the bars.  “I’ll watch Mr. Bruno.  You need some space.  It’s already been a draining day for you in the drift.”

He’s right but it still takes all of Nero’s willpower to drag himself away from the cell.  Ganzo settles into the folding chair and gently shoos Nero away.

He considers going back to his room, digging out a bottle of rationed alcohol and drowning his sorrows.  But Nero manages to talk himself out of the self-pity route and instead he directs his path to the nearest database computer. He needs to know who Avilio is, and what he meant by having been “set up”.

“Avilio” yields only one result in the staff database, and when Nero expands his search to the internet, he can’t seem to find any information on any Avilio Bruno, no family, no job history, no social media presence. It’s a dead end.

Nero tugs at his goatee pensively, he couldn’t have just come from nowhere. Squinting at the Shatterdome database, Nero searches “Luce”, the name of what Nero assumed must be Avilio’s younger brother. One result surfaces: the name Luce Lagusa, no photo, but whomever this was entered the Shatterdome database 16 years ago and was presumed dead…

Fourteen years ago.  He would have been four years old.

Nero searches “Lagusa” with a sick, knowing feeling in his stomach.  Four results return, all presumed dead: Luce, Elena, old enough to have been Luce’s mother, Angelo, and _Testa_. He can’t believe he missed the name of his father’s former drift partner. The records claim he died in an accident in the Jaeger hanger, but now that Nero considers it, based off Avilio’s accusations…maybe it hadn’t been an accident. _And he blames my family_ , Nero thinks.  Why would his father want his own drift partner dead?  They had been the closest of friends…

Nero clicks on Angelo, uncertain he wants to know what he’ll find. The picture is of a young boy, twelve, according to the records.  It’s Avilio. The faded photo undeniably matches the memory of young Avilio stumbling through a destroyed city.

 _But what does his family’s death have to do with me?_ Nero presses his palms into his eye sockets. He looks again at the date of presumed death, April 22, 2016.  Fourteen years ago, on Angelo’s birthday.

…And the day of his one and only Jaeger mission with his father. Nero stares blankly at the screen before closing all the tabs and shutting it off.  He buries his face in the palms of his hands. It makes sense now, and it’s all so messed up.

Understanding probably won’t make a difference to Avilio – Angelo – but Nero has to try.

He picks up a mobile drift connection box, outdated and formerly used for cursory drift compatibility testing.  It will have to do.

Ganzo seems surprised to see Nero and abruptly halts whatever he was talking to Avilio about.

“You can go, Uncle,” Nero sets down the box, “this needs to be taken care just between the two of us.”

He looks like he might protest, though as a ranger Nero is technically a higher rank. His uncle nods, and stands to leave.

“Think about what I told you, boy,” Ganzo addresses Avilio, “it could be the difference between freedom and being behind bars the rest of your life.”

As Nero situates the box he asks, “what did he talk to you about?”

“Nothing important, the usual spiel about being honest if I go on trial and to plead guilty in order to avoid harsher punishment,” he deadpans.

Nero’s brow furrows in irritation, “Take this and put it on your head.” He holds up a headset for the drifting box.

“What for?”

“We’re going to drift again. I…I know who you are now. I just need you to see what happened from my side.”

“This isn’t going to change anything,” he mutters, but places the contraption over his head.

“I know. But I think you deserve to know,” Nero adjusts his headset, “the memories are going to be a bit fuzzy…it was a long time ago, and you’ll be looking at memories from my father within my memories,” he adjusts the machine, “Just sit back and let me chase the rabbit.”

He locks eyes with Avilio, “ready in 3…2…1-”

_Nero is fourteen and couldn’t be more thrilled to finally get into a Jaeger, with his father, no less. The youngest ranger in history, they’re calling him. The first time he drops into the drift with Vincent elicits a mix of fear and elation.  He focuses in on a particular memory, a woman enters Vincent’s office.  She’s beautiful…but angry.   “I know you lied about my husband’s death, it was no accident,” she rages. He recognizes her now as Elena Lagusa. “I have ordered a formal investigation.  Detectives will be here within the next half hour and I doubt your flimsy explanation will hold up.”_

_“Mrs. Lagusa, in the next half hour you and your sons are to be transferred from this base,” Vincent counters icily._

_“What are you talking about?”_

_Nero views the memory through Vincent’s gaze, which averts to the doorway where the fuzzy forms of young Angelo and a small blonde boy cluster in the doorway, eyes wide and scared._

_“Since no one in your family is actively contributing to the Jaeger program, you will be relocated by train to a bunker which I assure contains top of the line security measures.  Now if you’ll excuse me-“_

_The memory cuts out and Nero is back beside his father in the jaeger.  They are escorting the train that Nero now understands holds the remainder of the Lagusa family. Then the Kaiju attacks._

_His father begins to turn the jaeger around to join the fight._

_“Shouldn’t we be staying with the transporter?” Nero asks._

_“We need to help the other strikers,” Vincent orders, and Nero has neither the authority nor the ability to disobey._

_His memories flash forward to after the attack, being photographed by the press beside Vincent.  They called him a hero. A team effort between the other two strikers and their jaeger had taken down a particularly crafty Kaiju, but not before it had ravaged a deep swath into the San Francisco Bay area, leveling a good portion of the coastal city. In the back of his mind he recalls seeing tiny newspaper articles mourning the loss of life aboard a transporter train – the one he was supposed to protect.  Evidently, the train also housed a car full of illegal Kaiju parts to be sold on the black market.  It had drawn the Kaiju right to the transporter.  They hadn’t stood a chance._

_Nero tries to riffle deeper into his father’s memories but surfaces only vague flashes of Vincent arguing with Testa and Ganzo about the Galassias, the illegal trade…_

“Nero, you need to stop chasing the rabbit,” he hears Avilio distantly, “I’ve seen enough.”

He forces himself to relax and let the neural connection even out.

“There’s something I need to show you too,” Avilio mumbles.

Nero wonders what he could possibly know about the attack fourteen years ago that Nero hadn’t already seen until Avilio chases the rabbit to a scene that could only have transpired barley an hour earlier.

_Avilio sits in his cell, facing Ganzo._

_“Alright Angelo, I think it’s time I’m honest with you,” Ganzo speaks first._

_“You know my name,” Angelo narrows his eyes, “then you must be the one who sent the letter.”_

_“I was.  I thought you should know the truth about your family’s death.”_

_“What were you expecting to gain from this?”_

_“I wasn’t certain of the sort of person you would be.  But I must say I’m impressed.  Or I was. Before today.” Ganzo laces his fingers together under his chin, regarding Avilio._

_A smirk teases the corner of Avilio’s guarded face, “I came to the Shatterdome thinking it would be nearly impossible to destroy the Vanetti family, but here they were, Frate willingly poisoning himself with Kaiju extracts, and Vincent, dying from neural damage and Nero…so desperate to find a connection he went after the first cadet who showed any promise…it was all too easy.”_

_The tone of his voice is icy, calculated but cocky.  It’s all wrong, so wrong…_

_“It was my hope that you would come back for revenge, with the Vanettis out of the picture, this Shatterdome would have a vacant Grand Marshal position.” Ganzo lazily cracks his kuckles, moving from hand to hand, “But I didn’t come to talk to you about that.  This whole deal has been blown wide open.  Instead I want to interest you in the Black Market trade with the Galassias.”_

_“Money doesn’t interest me.” Angelo says bluntly._

_“But it can ensure that when this Shatterdome finally gets shut down, you can live comfortably away from the Kaiju madness, somewhere safe in the Midwest. The Galassias have a monopoly both legally and illegally, it’s only a matter of time before the Jaeger program is shut down for good.  Better to be on the winning side, and you’ve proven yourself to be shrewd enough to handle the trade,” Ganzo sounds like a charlatan, using the tone of voice that had once convinced Nero’s younger self to clean his room for some rare prize of sweets.  Hearing it now nauseates him._

_“How long…have you been working with the Galassias?” Angelo inquires, voice neutral. He leans forward, interested._

_“A long time, my boy.”_

_“How long do I have to consider your offer?” The slyness is back but it’s different this time…_

_“I’d suggest you not tarry, if you’re moved to a different location for trial, it might not be possible to set you free.”_

_Nero hears his own footsteps coming from down the hallway and Ganzo cuts off speaking._

The machine begins beeping angrily and promptly shuts down, batteries dead.

Nero removes his headset in tandem with Angelo.  They seem to notice at the same moment in disgust.  Angelo drops the headset carelessly and Nero quickly reels the tech back before it can endure any more abuse.

“You want to join the black market?” Nero says incredulously once he’d finished.

Angelo makes a frustrated noise, “of course not. He just confirmed my suspicions that he was involved with the Kaiju attacking the transporter.  Except unlike your father he’s still colluding with the Galassias.”

Nero sighs deeply, “So now the truth is out. Your father got into a disagreement with mine and Ganzo so they offed him, then used Kaiju parts as bait to ensure the rest of your family couldn’t live to get revenge.” He presses his head into his hands, feeling ill, “I shouldn’t have left the train unprotected.”

“But you did.  And it cost me everyone I ever cared about,” Angelo stands slowly, predatory behind the bars.

“You can’t blame this all on me, I was a _child_ ,” he hisses.

“So was I. But we’re not children anymore. Can you fault me for wanting revenge?”

“Yes,” Nero grasps the bars, glaring down at him, “I will fault _anyone_ who threatens my family.”

After a beat, “I can’t believe I fell for all of it.”

“You were desperate for something to fill the void Vanno left-“

“- Don’t talk about him-”

“So you were ready to settle for anyone, even lucky little cadet me,” Angelo finishes, regarding him, expression schooled back to neutral.

Nero runs his hands through his hair, messing up any careful styling spared by his jaeger helmet.

Something still doesn’t make sense…

 “Frate.  You could have let him die while I was getting a doctor, Ronaldo had already fled, why not take the opportunity?” Nero asks finally, seething.

“Doesn’t really matter at this point, he’s in a coma.  Who knows if he’ll ever fully recover, and before you had a chance to try to fix things with him-“

“Stop talking,” he cuts him off.

It feels like a lie, but Nero is fed up with trying to weave his way through Angelo’s mind games.  He lunges and grabs Angelo by the shirt collar and drags him up against the bars, using his height and bulk to his advantage. The younger man doesn’t fight back, hands only rising instinctively to steady himself.

“But it was all for nothing, my family is still alive, and the only reason you’ll be leaving this cell is to be transferred to a prison off-base.” He wants so desperately to get a rise out of Angelo, see a flicker of life, of anything, in those dead ochre eyes.

A set of frantic footsteps down the corridor catches their attention.

“Ranger Vanetti! There you are!” It’s Cerotto, panting, “Wait why is Avilio in a cage?”

“Long story,” Nero explains.

“Well never mind that! We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for the last hour!”

“What has happened?” He releases Angelo and roughly shoves him deeper into the cell. The younger man coughs and shakes himself off.

Cerotto straightens himself, “there’s been a double event.  Tigre and Volpe are already out there but they’re getting their asses kicked.  We need you two to suit up.”

“That’s not possible, a double event?” Nero asks incredulously.

“I didn’t’ think so either but Corteo and his stupid numbers predicted correctly,” he rubs his temples, “but I can’t say anything I drifted with a piece of Kaiju brain earlier this week…”

“You _what_?!” Nero shouts.

“I was noticing some patterns in Kaiju tissue compositions so I thought, why not try to drift with a piece of inert brain, right?  Um it nearly killed me but, that’s irrelevant, because it didn’t.  Anywho turns out the Kaiju have a hive mentality but the brain piece was inert so I went to Strega Galassias, before you say it, I know I know, terrible idea, but they had a piece of fresh Kaiju brain so Corteo and I – we’re drift compatible by the way – drifted with the Kaiju brain and that’s how we found out about the double event,” he finishes, breathless.

“I’ll report right away,” Nero starts to march towards the hangar.

“Wait what about Avilio?” Cerotto splutters.

“For classified reasons, he won’t be joining me.” Nero motions for Cerotto to follow him to the hangar.

Cerotto has to trot to keep up, “then who are you drifting with?”

“No one.”

Behind them he hears a sharp clang of metal on metal and whips around to see Angelo, hands gripping the bars, staring after them with eyes alight.

“You can’t do that,” he shouts. Nero has never heard him raise his voice like this.

In three strides Nero is standing in front of the cell, this is getting tiresome. “You’ve left me with no other options.”

“The neural load will kill you,” Angelo insists, he’s shaking.

“And won’t that make you happy,” Nero turns around again, “but as long as I’m breathing I’m not about to let two good pilots and a city full of thousands of people die when I can do something about it.”

Angelo watches the receding shape of Nero’s broad shoulders until he’s eclipsed by the dim hallway.

He slams his cuffed hands into the bars again, growling in frustration. He screwed up, so, so irreparably. Resigned and distraught, Angelo sinks back into his chair and buries his head.

An indeterminate amount of time later the door to his cell swings open.

His head whips up, hoping against hope that Nero changed his mind…

But it’s Corteo, jetlagged to hell, jingling a set of keys.

“I came as fast as I could,” he says in a rush, “Cerotto told me they had you locked up. What happened?”

Angelo numbly lets him undo the cuffs before replying, “we did a practice drift…I couldn’t stop the memories…Nero knows everything.”

“Then you need to leave – while everyone is distracted with the Kaiju…”

Angelo rubs his wrists, “which way is the hangar?”

Corteo gives him a strange look, “down the hall that way, but you don’t want to go there-”

Before he’s finished Angelo starts sprinting down the hall.

* * *

 

The lady suiting up Nero has repeatedly reminded him that she cannot ethically recommend that he solo pilots, that it will cause irreversable neurological damage and possibly death.

He tells her to finish clipping him into the suit faster.

Nero stares into the reflective surface of his helmet. This might be it.  All 28 years of his life…leading up to this day-

The door to the room bursts open and in runs Angelo, panting.

“Ranger Bruno? We weren’t expecting you?” the technician lady looks between Nero and Angelo in confusion.

“I just got cleared to drift,” He lies, the façade is back with its cool business-like demeanor.

“Thank goodness, no one has to go alone,” she says faintly, already starting to suit up Angelo.  Another technician appears to tune up the wiring on Nero’s suit.

Angelo is vicerally aware of Nero’s gaze raking into the back of his skull but he ignores it. But Nero waits until they stand side by side in the confined space of the elevator leading to the Jaeger cockpit before breaking.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I don’t know,” it is perhaps the most honest thing he’s said in weeks.

His brow is furrowed, fingertips drumming on the helmet visor.

Nero fidgets to his left, agitated.

They board the Jaeger and lock into their tethers.

 “Here’s the plan.” Nero announces over the com, “We go in, rescue the _Tigerfox_ , kill the kaiju and then…”

He and Angelo exchange looks.

“We figure out whatever the hell is the rest.”

By the time the duo is suited up, the _Tiger Fox_ managed to take down one Kaiju, but the second monster jammed their controls.  They were dead in the water as the _Goliath_ slogged into the fight.

 

 

* * *

 

Angelo’s presence in his mind is a mangled mess of emotion that Nero doesn’t want to touch with a twenty-foot pole.  He can’t be much better, but at least for the moment their neural connection is – unexpectedly – stable.

The _Tigerfox_ and Kaiju are visible in the distance, still about a quarter mile out when Nero decides to risk the integrity of their neural link.

 “Why didn’t you kill me, Angelo?” It’s hardly a relevant question anymore, they could be slogging to their deaths presently. Still the question gnaws at Nero.

The young man jumps at the sound of his real name, his eyes are dull and lifeless, still refusing to make eye contact, as though doing so would instantly cause something between them or within them to break.  

After an extended silence, he admits, “I didn’t want to.”

Nero feels agitated all over again, they both are jarred in finally understanding the entirety of the series of events that led them to this point of conflict. He wants the discord to be over, to not feel like he’s trying to claw out of his own skin. More so he wants to rewind to before Avilio was Angelo and they could just be content drift partners, not this mess of old grudges and dead families and broken pieces Nero can’t begin to consider how to fit back together.

And if the finished product could in any way resemble the original.  

“What made you change your mind?”

Angelo waits a few more paces before finally looking at Nero, and something does break.

“What do you think?” Angelo laughs softly, it’s real and viscerally honest. He draws forward a series of memories:

Nero, pinned under him on the training mats the first day they met, looking up at him with awe.

Nero, casually throwing his arm around Angelo’s shoulder, even if he pretended not to enjoy it.

Nero, looking even the slightest bit happier after talking to Angelo. 

The memories continue to pile up, some indistinct but all linked by a warm glow of fondness.

Nero is rendered speechless and opts to focus on marching the _Goliath_ onward rather than face Angelo.

“Not so different from your perception of me, huh?” Angelo offers.

As if he wasn’t already embarrassed, Nero feels his face flame red at the mention.

“You certainly think of me often,” he notes, and the bastard has the nerve to sound _smug_.

They march in silence while Nero composes himself.

 “I really did try to hate you.  At the beginning I had myself convinced that I did,” he stares out the cockpit window, focus somewhere far on the horizon, “But you’re not the person I expected you to be.”

“Angelo, about your family, had I known- “

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. Then, softer, “But I know you would have done everything in your power to stop it.”

Nero feels as though the warm light from the setting sun has seeped into his bones, maybe something did break between them.

But it feels like some of the hurt, some of the hate, is bleeding out.

 _Rescue the_ Tigerfox _, kill the kaiju and then…_

Maybe things could work out after all.

Now within a hundred yards, they ready their melee weapons.

“How are you feeling?” Nero asks Angelo, noticing his scrunched forehead through the tinted pane of his helmet.

“Like I think I’m going to enjoy this,” he flexes the _Goliath’s_ right fist.

As they near the Kaiju’s energy reading, a faint crackling breaks through their radio transmitters.

_This is the Tiger Fox requesting backup we are immobile and weaponless, please-_

“Nero I’ve got eyes on it,” Angelo motions to a faint iridescent glow under the water a few hundred yards out. 

The sun dips lower on the horizon; if possible Nero wants to end the fight before they lose daylight. Ahead of them, the _Tiger Fox_ stands erect, a blackened silhouette against the horizon.

They track the motion of the Kaiju, which has begun to circle the _Tiger Fox._

The _Goliath_ breaks into a sprint, displaced water churning around its legs.  Just as the Kaiju rears out of the water, intent on striking down the _Tiger Fox_ , the _Goliath_ slides in front of it, and Nero deploys his right-side sword arm, impaling the Kaiiju through its shoulder. Screeching, the Kaiju swings a crustaceous forelimb downward, but Angelo catches the spiked appendage in the _Goliath’s_ left hand. They strain to push the Kaiju forward, away from the immobilized Jaeger.

“Barbero,” Nero grunts over the radio com, “sent out a team of helicopters to remove the _Tiger Fox_ from harm’s way.  We’ll keep this one busy.”

“Roger that.”

Agitated, the Kaiju pulls its forelimb out of Angelo’s grip, its identical limb on the other side is immobilized thanks to Nero’s well aimed stab. It twists backwards and lashes outward, but Nero and Angelo counter it, retracting the sword from the Kaiju and crossing the _Goliath’s_ arms to block.  The tip of the forelimb digs into the metal arm guards, puncturing the outermost layer.

“It’s sharp,” Angelo warns.

Locking the _Goliath’s_ feet into position the duo prepares to push the Kaiju off, but before they can the monster’s seemingly tiny head extends out at them, jaw unhinged, like a twisted iteration of a snapping turtle lunging out of its shell. It scrabbles for purchase with hooked angler-fish like teeth against the smooth surface of the _Goliath_ ’s head.

“What the hell?!” Nero bellows, firing up the plasma cannon.

Angelo twists the left arm to maximize the probability of hitting the kaiju with a plasma blast.

“Fire now!” he snarls and the beam is enough to jolt the Kaiju back far enough to regain visuals.  The tinted enamel of the jaeger’s cockpit windshield is deeply gouged but not breached.

Nero deploys the sword again.  A well-aimed hit from the plasma cannon at point blank would seriously injure a Kaiju, but firing blind had merely scratched this beast, and made it angry. Angelo begins charging for another plasma blast, fist clenched.

They exchange cursory blows, the kaiju being forced on the defensive with only one forelimb in commission, though it compensated well by lunging its mouthful of teeth at intervals.

“It’s too fast with its motions to slice its head off?” Angelo growls.

“Unfortunately so,” Nero grunts.

Just as Angelo readies the cannon, the Kaiju rears back and two additional crustaceous appendages pop out of either side of its armored torso.  The spikes stab into either side of the _Goliath’s_  abdomen, momentarily throwing it off balance.  It’s all the time the Kaiju needs to lunge out with its teeth and latch onto the left arm.  For Nero, panic momentarily overwhelms him – it’s Vanno all over again and he can’t do that, he can’t lose another-

Angelo is quicker than Vanno and pulls the upper body of the jaeger over enough so that when the kaiju’s teeth sink in it only grabs the arm.  With a shriek, the kaiju rends the arm from the torso, the plasma cannon fizzling out, and flings it far into the ocean. Nero swings the sword arm and severs the two lefthand appendages of the kaiju.

Beside him Angelo leans heavily against his tethers, panting.

“Hey, Angelo, are you hurt?” the panic returns, what if the neural shock of losing an arm was too much, maybe he was jolted unconscious by the impact-

“I seem to have lost motility in the left arm,” Angelo deadpans. His matter-of-fact reaction grounds Nero.

In the meantime the Kaiju has slunk back under the waves to lick its wounds.  They’re losing daylight quickly.

“Can we beat it with only one arm?” Angelo asks, scouring the ocean for movement.

“I don’t know, without the plasma cannon…” Nero’s brow furrows.

“What if we concentrated the cannon charges into the central reactor in the chest plate? If you could impale the Kaiju, we could blast it head on.”

“Yeah and ourselves with it,” Nero counters, “the reactor isn’t built to be a weapon.”

“Lets do it,” Angelo says with resolve, “and before you ask me why I’m so willing to die for this mission – I’m not.  There are two escape pods in the back.”

Nero nods, understanding, “we trap the kaiju, set the reactor to blow, then deploy the escape pods. Just one problem, there’s a delay between pod deployment, you’ll need to go first, I’ll set the reactor to blow and then deploy by own pod, ok?”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Angelo argues.

“Yes you are, I’ve been in this jaeger since I was fourteen, I know how it works better than anyone.”

“You’ll be solo-piloting for a moment.”

“Just for a moment, I’ll be alright.”

They don’t have any more time to argue before the kaiju launches itself out of the water into the _Goliath_. It stabs its remaining limb into the abdomen again, but this time it’s in their favor.  Nero stabs the sword deep into the kaiju’s side beneath its useless upper left limb.

“Angelo, go now!” He barks as the kaiju shrieks furiously, hooked teeth gouging the cockpit window.

His partner doesn’t hesitate, but presses the button to start a plasma cannon charge. Warning lights go off, threatening a core meltdown. The moment Angelo unhooks himself from the tethers, the full neural load of the drift falls onto Nero.  For a moment he falters, feeling faint, dark circles swim before his eyes. Angelo’s voice drags him back to the present.

“Deploying now, Nero, don’t you dare die.” In an instant, the pod flies from the jaeger, skidding across the waves at a safe distance. Nero makes one final thrust into the kaiju who seems to have decided the best way to take them down was to claw through to the head.  He unhooks himself and manually overrides the meltdown prevention measures before stumbling into the second pod.

* * *

 

When Angelo hits the waves he’s winded even through the pod and his jaeger suit. He scrambles to open the top, removing his helmet in the process.  In the distance the kaiju writhes against the jaeger, still like a statue.  Fists clenched, he waits until he sees the clean arc of Nero’s pod launch from the jaeger. 

A split second later it explodes. 

Angelo doesn’t wait to see if the kaiju survived, before Nero’s pod hits the waves he’s already swimming for it. He wrenches the entire front panel off and straddles Nero’s hips.  Without finess, Angelo removes his helmet. Nero is pale and still, a trail of blood dripping from his nose.

“Nero, wake up,” he hisses, leaning down to check for breathing and a pulse. Finding none, Angelo wastes no time tipping Nero’s head back.  He pinches his nose closed, takes a deep breath, and exhales into Nero’s mouth. After repeating the process three more times, Angelo tries to find the space just under Nero’s rib cage, praying the jaeger suit was flexible enough to transmit compressions. He puts his whole weight into the compressions, growing more frantic as Nero fails to respond. Panic chokes him as he prepares to repeat the process, tipping back his head to give him another breath of air-

Nero chooses that convenient moment to regain conciousness.  He lurches upward, gasping and nearly smashing his face into Angelo’s.

“Holy shit-“ he wheezes, “were you trying to break my ribs? And was that a kiss? While I was unconcious?” He seems to take in the fact that Angelo is indeed straddling his hips, thighs pressing tight against Nero’s sides. “you could have at least asked me to dinner first,” he says with mock disappointment.

Angelo largely ignores him, and flings his arms around Nero’s shoulders, crushing the older man against his chest.

“H-hey not so  tight I still need to breathe.” But Nero reciprocates, clutching Angelo close.

Angelo nuzzles into the crook of Nero’s neck and shoulder, and Nero presses his cheek against Angelo’s temple.  They remain curled against one another until the whir of the rescue helecopters deadened the noise of the ocean waves. 

Tigre and Volpe greet them and let down a rope ladder.  Once boarded the other drift pair enthuses about their fight.

“You blew that kaiju to smitherines,” Volpe explained with exaggerated hand gestures, “It was _awesome_.”

“The kaiju and most of their jaeger,” Tigre shakes his head, “you crazy kids.”

“You do realize I’m almost thirty?” Nero grumbles.

“Still young compared to the rest of us,” Volpe chuckles.

Out the window of the helicopter, Nero can see the faint outline of the jaeger, blown apart almost to the point of being no more than a pair of legs.

“The Grand Marshal said he’d send out clean up crews tomorrow.”

They arrive back at the Shatterdome to a mob of people congratulating them, Barbero, Ganzo, Cerotto, Corteo, even Marshal Vanetti.  Angelo and Nero sneak away from the chaos a quickly as they can, snagging a couple people to help them out of their jaeger suits. In a drift induced haze, Nero slings his arm around Angelo’s shoulders and before they know it they’re both standing in Nero’s room. Angelo hesitates, “I should go-“

“Stay,” he begs, “I just need you near…just to sleep, I’m not good for anything but sleeping right now.” He drapes his arms over Angelo’s shoulders, “everything else we can worry about in the morning.”

Angelo nodds and slips his arms loosely around Nero’s waist, swaying on his feet. “shouldn’t I be in a holding cell right now?” he mumbles.

“Shh, that’s a tomorrow problem.”  Nero backs them up until he falls onto his cot, Angelo atop him. “we still have so much to talk about.”

“Mmhmm,” Angelo agrees.

“I had you arrested earlier today…you lied to me about…almost everything…you wanted to kill me and my family and for that I was ready to harm you…”

“Nero,” he says sternly, “tomorrow.”

“You can’t sleep on top of me though, I already can’t feel one of my arms…”

“Fine, move over,” Angelo grumbles and they shift around until his back is pressed along the length of Nero’s front.

Nero is silent for a moment, “are you sure you’re ok with this?”

He sighs, this ridiculous man…

“Nero, we’re both consenting adults.  You can spoon me.”

“Mkay,” he doesn’t need any more prodding to wrap Angelo in his arms, seeking out his hands to lace their fingers together, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s ok to call you Angelo?” Nero murmurs.

“Officially I’m still Avilio…but in private…yeah…it’s nice,”

They’re pressed impossibly close to one another, but it’s not enough, still too many layers of clothing, skin, sinews and tissue keeping them apart from the onness they achieved in the drift.  

But for the moment, it’s close enough.

* * *

 

Nero awakes for the second day in a row to Barbero pounding on his door.  He didn’t set an alarm for a reason, he doesn’t care if it’s three in the afternoon: it’s still too early.

“Are you going to answer him?” Angelo groans.

“Fine.” It’s honestly the last thing Nero wants to do. He’d like to stay curled up in his warm cot with Angelo’s heartbeat to lull him to sleep but it seemed he wouldn’t be allowed nice things today.

“This had better be important,” he prefaced, opening the door with his eyes already screwed shut to stave off the florecent enslaught.

“I received word from Mr. Alary that Mr. Bruno was placed under arrest yesterday shortly before the kaiju attack, that he was allowed to fight the kaiju with you, but he was never returned to his cell,” Barbero concludes, adjusting his glasses.

“I can solve that mystery for you,” Nero sighs.

As though on cue, Angelo appears beside him in the doorway, now sporting one of Nero’s pullover sweatshirts.  It’s adorably large on the younger man, but also has the unfortunate effect of being rather damning evidence as to what Nero is certain Barbero now suspects of their nightly activities.  

It also doesn’t help that Angelo has one hand draped across his lower back, hand on his hip, though Nero is beginning to suspect that part is on purpose…

“Mr. Bruno, you are under arrest-”

“No, he’s not,” Nero interrupts. “I overreacted yesterday. I want him aquitted of all accusations.”

Barbero stubbornly adjusts his glasses, “Unfortunately it’s not so simple, Mr. Alary has already filed an official incident report.”

Angelo and Nero exchange glances, Ganzo either suspected Angelo may be on Nero’s side, or was intent on backing Angelo into a corner so he had no choice but to join his black market scheme.

“He helped save millions of lives yesterday, if he can’t be outright aquitted, a pardon is in order,” Nero crosses his arms.

“You’ll have to work that out with the Grand Marshal I suppose,” Barbero could see he wasn’t making any progress with this intended arrest.

“Then I will.  You’re dismissed.”

Looking miffed, Barbero leaves.

Angelo watches Nero close the door and pace tight loops in the tiny room.

“Should I be vacating the premises?” He asks, only half facetious.

Nero rubs his temples, “don’t go…I’ll talk to my father…he has to understand…”

He nods and brushes past Nero, intent on returning to his own quarters. There’s an awkward distance between the two of them in contrast to the closeness after the drift.  It’s a cruel reminder that the moment Angelo’s indentity was revealed they could no longer just be simple drift partners.

 _First his father, then figure out the rest_ , Nero keeps telling himself, as though there were even time for the rest…

* * *

 

Facing his father is always more intimidating than he anticipates.

“Let me get this straight,” Vincent rubs his temples, “you need me to pardon Mr. Bruno because yesterday you placed him under arrest.”

“Yes.”

“Why place him under arrest in the first place?”

Nero rubs his temples before admitting, “because he’s the son of Testa Lagusa.”

Vincent’s head whips to attention, eyes blazing, “then arrest him again. He needs to be removed from this Shatterdome immediately-“

“Because he’s likely bent on killing you and I?” Nero supplies.

“You seem awfully unconcerned-”

“He’s not. Not anymore.  He changed his mind,” Nero crosses his arms, “and we’re a perfect drift pair. So he needs to stay.”

Vincent shakes his head, “no. He must be arrested.  He must be cunning, like his father, and people like that don’t just ‘change their mind’ about murder.”

Gripping the front of Vincent’s desk with both hands Nero argues, “but I _saw his mind_ , there’s no revenge plot.”

The Grand Marshall doesn’t budge, “he’s decieving you. Fourteen years ago, Testa almost destroyed our entire operation, I cannot in good faith allow his son to have the chance to do the same.”

Nero slams a fist on the desk, “he’s not his father. And I’m not _you_. We won’t make the same mistakes.”

Vincent glares at him, emanating a cold fury, and Nero knows he has overstepped.

With extreme effort he tries to reign in his temper, backing away from the desk a few paces, running his hands through his hair.

“I need him,” he says finally, voice raw.

His father is regarding him closely and Nero feels flayed open.

With a deep sigh, Vincent conceeds.

“He has twelve hours to leave the base, if he has not done so already.  In respect for your esteem in Mr. Bruno, and his heroic acts yesterday, he will be allowed to leave the Shatterdome without a criminal offense on his record.  But he will not be allowed to stay nor return.  Understood?”

Nero is shaking his head ‘no’.  He feels sick but Vincent is still the Grand Marshall as well as his father and his word is law. 

“You’ll find another drift partner, I have faith in you,” Vincent makes it sound like a peace offering.

Vaguely, he hears himself ask for permission to leave, and Vincent assures him he won’t need to break the news to Mr. Bruno himself.

Nero keeps his composure until he’s in a back hallway before sinking against the wall.  The floor blurs in front of him.

He has half a mind to leave with Angelo.

But…he can’t….too far tethered into the Shatterdome: who will care for his father if he leaves? Frate is still in the hospital, he needs to be there for his family…he doesn’t know if Angelo even wants to stay, wants to be with him…

For moment  it had just felt like he would have the time to straighten things out, with himself, with Angelo, maybe even with Frate…

He checks Angelo’s room, then his own, and finds nothing. Gone without a trace…

…or a goodbye.

At sundown Nero sits in the hangar, smoking cigarettes.  He knows it’s horrible for him but he needs _something_ to calm his roiling emotions. The horizon is baked gold in the sunset, soft light warming everything it touches, from the cresting waves to the far off city skyline. Nero sits with his feet hanging over the water, a third cigarette poised in his right hand.

 _Another drift partner here and gone_ , he thinks bitterly and goes to take a drag only to find the cigarette snatched from his fingers.

Angelo takes a long drag and sits beside him. 

“You- wait you can’t be here, they’ll find you and-“ Nero stammers.

Angelo waves him off, handing back the cigarette, “Ganzo convinced the Grand Marshal to let me stay.”

“He what?” Nero blurts, intelligently.

His eyes glint pure gold in the sunset, “he thinks he’s roped me into his black market scheme.  Told the Grand Marshal he’ll _personally_ keep an eye on me.”

“But…?” Nero prods, hopeful.

“He needs to be taken out.  Him, and the Galassias. I want them dead,” the fire is back in Angelo’s eyes, smoldering like twin embers.

“That’s not going to be easy,” Nero cautions, passing back the cigarette.

“It would be harder were I alone,” Angelo looks down to the side, bangs shadowing his face, as though embarrassed at the admission.  

Nero wants to hug him, tell him in some capacity how much it means to him but…

…he doesn’t need to say anything, he realizes. 

Angelo holds up the cigarette to Nero’s mouth, thumb and forefinger brushing his lips while he takes another drag.

They share the cigarette until it burns low and Nero snubs it out on the rough wooden floor. Before he can reach for another, Angelo places his hand over his and locks their fingers together. Languidly, he leans against Nero, soft hair tickling his neck. 

Nero’s father is still dying and Frate is in a coma and his uncle is working for the Galassias and the rift is still open in the Pacific…but Angelo’s head his a reassuring weight on his shoulder, his whole presence is soothing and maybe things won’t be so bad with another set of helping hands. They still have a long way to go before they can fully trust one another.

In the distance two search helicopters scour the waves for broken off parts of the _Goliath_. They’ll pick up the pieces, little by little, together.

 

 


	2. Science Bros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fic about the science bros and their burgeoning (?) relationship. 
> 
> Set during the plot of "Drifting Closer"

_The Science Bay, a few days after Nero and Avilio start training together._

“Cerotto, what is _that_?”  Corteo asks his fellow scientist, gesturing to their shared desk space in the middle of the lab.

“What?” Cerotto puts down the Kaiju part he was examining, wipes his hands off on a filthy apron, and strolls over to the table, “oh! That’s a piece of back flesh from the Kaiju that attacked Tokyo last year, I was really lucky to get my hands on it-“

“To rephrase my question,” Corteo cuts him off, “ _Why_ is it on our desk? We have two rules in this lab-”

“I know I know, one, don’t bother you when you’re in your ‘thinkspace’, and no Kaiju parts in your half of the lab, however, this is a shared space.  So I’m allowed.” Cerotto puts his hands on his hips, triumphant.

“The shared space is meant for papers! Not filthy Kaiju…back…flesh,” he looks nauseated at the thought.

Cerotto picks up the specimen with his - ungloved – hand, “this has been soaking in formaldehyde for a year.  It’s cleaner than you.” But he transports it to his already overflowing dissection table nonetheless.

Corteo turns back to his trifold chalkboard and resumes scratching away figures. “And sanitize the area, please.”

“Already on it, Mr. Hypchondriac,” Cerotto rolls his eyes. If it were anyone else, he’d probably be pissed, but Corteo has the lucky caveat of being _very cute_ which makes Cerotto a bit more willing to bend over backwards for his ultra-high cleanliness standards.

Their dynamic as the Shatterdome’s resident top scientists is a tenuous one, with Corteo being heavily based in theory and prediction, organized to the point of being neurotic, with his heavy glasses and fluffy overcoat, chalk dust a perpetual occupant of the tip of his nose, bleaching his fingertips white. To contrast completely is Cerotto with his Kaiju tattoo sleeves, hands-on research methods, not without an organization system but utilizing a system that someone as clean-cut as Corteo would never understand.  It’s understandable _why_ the Grand Marshal chose the two of them, mainly just unfortunate that two polar opposites needed to work so closely in the same lab space.

They get along enough to manage. Corteo tolerates Cerotto, Cerotto does his best to hide that he has a super embarrassing crush on his scientist counterpart.  Everyone is at least halfway happy.

In the coming weeks Cerotto starts to notice trends in the tissues of the Kaiju,  not just recent but even samples from 2, 3, even ten years previous. He begins building a device to allow him to do one of the stupider experiments he’s conceived in his short life.

He’s going to drift with a piece of Kaiju brain.

Tape recorder in hand, he dictates: “It is 14:54 pm, August 26, 2030.  I am about to do something unprecedented and drift with a piece of inert Kaiju brain. Corteo if you’re listening to this …uh well it probably means I’m dead in which case you were right and please don’t rub it in at my funeral.  If I survive…then _ha_ I told you so.  I’ll also be telling you in person. Ok.  Here goes…everything.”

 He presses the button and is dragged into the drift.

* * *

 

Corteo swipes his access card in the door of the lab, calling out, “If you have any kaiju parts by my stuff, move them now.” He’s really not in the mood to be airing  the smell of kaiju fluid out of his reports.

The lab is unusually silent, when alone Cerotto always blasts old pop hits from the early 2000s.

He swings open the door and is met with a surge of terror.  Cerotto is slumped in a chair, nodes taped to his temples, with wires running from the head device to a box and connecting on the other end to a lump of Kaiju tissue. A trail of blood drips from his nose to his upper lip. He’s by his side in and instant, tearing off the headset device.

“Cerotto, wake up!” Corteo shakes him, heart racing in his ears.

Groggy, the other scientist’s eyes roll open, one is bloodshot in symmetry with his bloody nose.

“What’re y’doin back soo early?” he slurs.

“I’m not, it’s late afternoon,” Corteo says vaguely.

Cerotto’s eyes snap open suddenly, he jerks free of Corteo’s grip and falls over backwards, taking the chair with him. Half-crazed, he scrambles to his feet and grips the fluffy ruff of Corteo’s ridiculous overcoat.

“I need to talk to the Grand Marshall right away.”

“I’ll page him,” Corteo gently extricates Cerotto’s hands from his coat, “if you sit down for a moment, ok?”

Cerotto, shakily, allows himself to be manhandled into Corteo’s plush desk chair, a handkerchief pressed to his nose.

By the time the Grand Marshall arrives he’s managed to calm down a few degrees.  It helps that Corteo hasn’t stopped mothering him since he found him attached to the drift device. The stoic scientist stands behind the chair, one hand gripping the back, the other offering Cerotto a glass of water, taking back his handkerchief after his nosebleed ceased, even though it probably nauseated Corteo.

He explains, in fumbling words, that he yes, drifted with a kaiju brain fragment, which was, undeniably stupid, but it turns out they have a hive mind, all the kaiju attacks have been kaiju with identical DNA, they’re intelligent, and they’re just getting started.

Marshal Vanetti is unreadable.

“Is that all?” He asks finally.

“ _Is that all?_ ” Corteo snaps, “he nearly died for this!”

The grand marshal gives him a terrifying look, “did I address you?”

Corteo remains silent, eyes narrowed with anger.

“It um, because it’s only a fragment and not very fresh, the images were pretty blurry,” Cerotto fidgets, “if I had a bigger, newer sample, I could probably get a clearer idea of their intent.”

“That’s impossible,” Corteo argues, “it’s illegal to scavenge Kaiju parts, they’re never intact once they reach the surface, plus scavenging is highly dangerous not to mention what might happen to you if you subject your brain to the stress of drifting with _alien matter_ -“

Marshal Vanetti cuts him off again, “all you need is a fresh brain?”

“Y-yeah,” Cerotto stammers, his head is beginning to hurt from all this talking and Corteo yelling (even if it does feel nice that he cares).

Marshal Vincent hands him a slip of paper with a symbol drawn on it. “Go to Hong Kong’s costal district. Ask for Strega Galassias.  He’s wiley, and physchotic, and you might not make it out in one piece.  But no one else is more likely to have a full Kaiju brain.”

“Ok.  I’ll head to Hong Kong immediately.” Cerotto clutches the paper to his chest.

Satisfied, the marshal leaves.

“You’re not seriously thinking of going,” Corteo blurts, eyes narrowed behind his thick frames.

“There is not a single part of me that isn’t considering going,” Cerotto says with conviction.

“You could be killed!” he hisses.

“We have a chance to see what the Kaiju might be planning, we might, for the first time in over two decades, have a leg up on them.  So yeah, I might die.  But if I do nothing, millions of people are definitely going to die.” He pockets the paper.  “I’m leaving for Hong Kong.  Don’t touch my Kaiju stuff while I’m gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Corteo says faintly, forehead furrowed.

* * *

 

Corteo can’t seem to relax from the moment the wheels go up on the plane that carries Cerotto to Hong Kong. He lays down on his bunk, far too agitated to consider sleep, and instead tries to focus in on the root of his discomfort.

He’d only been resident scientist for a few weeks now, and barely a week into his new job when Angelo, his oldest friend from foster care, showed up, name changed to Avilio and toting a letter detailing how his family’s death wasn’t an accident. Naturally, knowing his friend better than probably anyone else, Angelo had returned for revenge.  Corteo had advised against it, but as children he’d always blindly followed Angelo, he couldn’t expect, 12 years later, to have any sway in their friendship. Angelo getting caught or following through on his revenge (and what that might do to his fragile psyche), was only one facet of Corteo’s agitation. Another is Angelo’s obvious fondness of Nero.  For someone who vowed to kill his drift-partner-in-training only weeks ago, he’s doing a terrible job.

He could care less about Angelo getting revenge, and it’s probably his own fault, for thinking the crush he had on the sulking, clever boy twelve years ago would be gone by now, but here he is.  Getting jealous over some jock because his used-to-be best friend has latched onto him more than he ever did to Corteo.

Third is Cerotto, whom he didn’t think he’d ever lose sleep over because the scientist drives him crazy on a daily with his kaiju tattoos and lack of lab cleanliness. It was the way he looked into the face of probable death without shirking.  This seemingly twitchy, flighty man perhaps wasn’t the person Corteo perceived him to be.  And it pissed him off.  All that talk of saving millions of people, making Corteo feel _guilty_ as if he wasn’t already doing enough day in and day out to help drive off the kaiju invasion…

He sits up abruptly.  He can’t sleep because he should be on that plane with Cerotto, facing almost certain peril, saving people instead of hiding behind thick lenses and boards full of safe figures.

Also there’s no way Cerotto will be able to handle the back alleys of Hong Kong alone.  Not that Corteo is any better suited…

He hauls on his coat, grabs the essentials, and boards the first available plane to Hong Kong.

* * *

 

It wasn’t that Cerotto  didn’t often feel intimidated by strong personalities (even Avilio freaked him out whenever he crept silently around the Shatterdome).

But Strega Galassia somehow managed to create a new level of overpowering persona, effortlessly.

Cerotto waits awkwardly in the foyer of a lavish underground operation, replete with red carpets and gold edging along the walls, adding tasteful splashes of warmth to the otherwise ominously preserved kaiju parts in large glass tubes embedded into the wall at intervals.

Somewhere off to the side a set of mahogany doors fly open and in strides Strega, decked out in a lavish suit, gold chain of his pocket watch to match the walls and a particularly ridiculous pair of gold plated loafers.

The ensuing minutes pass in a whirlwind as Cerotto does a stammering job of explaining why he is there, despite the Grand Marshall contacting Strega first.  Strega cuts him off almost literally by flailing a pocket knife in his face, threatening to turn him into the décor, and finally, with a hearty laugh, signals employers to roll out the preservation tank with a large unharmed segment of kaiju hindbrain.

His eyes widen, it’s in perfect condition, he’ll have no trouble drifting with it…

“The payment has been taken care of?” He asks.

“Yes, the Grand Marshall cut us quite the deal,” Strega affirms, still twirling his switch knife.

Cerotto bobs his head, too vigorously, and transfers the preservation tank into a large, insulated suitcase.  He has his drifting materials set up in a motel down the road, he’ll need to transport the brain there first.

“Uh, p-pleasure doing business with you?” He offers, backing up slowly.

Strega leers after him.

The moment he’s out of sight he grips the suitcase handle and runs.

He makes it a full block before crashing into someone. They both topple, the suitcase the only remaining member upright.

“OH shit sorry,” is all Cerotto can splutter, forgetting that everyone here speaks Cantonese…

“Watch where you’re-“ the other trails off _in English_. “Cerotto??”

He takes a moment to collect himself and instantly recognizes that fluffy coat, crooked spectacles, and generally grumpy expression of Corteo.

The man in question pulls off his glasses, seems to determine they are bent beyond fix for the moment, and replaces them.

Cerotto offers a hand that he gladly takes.

“I can’t believe I found you,” he gushes.

“Wait but, no offense, why are you here?” Cerotto is still reeling from drifting with a Kaiju, Strega, now Corteo appearing out of nowhere….

Corteo looks around suspiciously, “they told me you’re staying at a motel, lets talk there, ok?”

He finds himself nodding, grabbing hold of the suitcase again.  They arrive minutes later and embark on the arduous task of lifting the hindbrain-carrying-suitcase up three flights of flimsy, narrow, fire escape stairs.  They aren’t willing to chance anyone searching their luggage. Once in the room, Cerotto latches all the locks.

“Ok. Now that we’re here,” he grabs the front of Corteo’s stupid fluffy coat and shakes him, “what are you doing here in the slums don't you know it’s dangerous?!”

“As if your’e any better equipped to be traipsing around the back alleys here,” Corteo counters, shaking off the other scientist’s grip.

He sighs deeply, seeming to collect his thoughts, “I’m here because…even though this is a stupid, terrible idea, I’m not about to let you do it all alone.”

Cerotto isn’t sure if he should feel insulted or delighted.  He settles somewhere in the middle.

“So…we drift?” Cerotto asks, eyebrow raised.

“Anything to get us out of this disgusting motel, yes.” Corteo shrugs off his coat.  Without it he seems shrunk to half his normal bulk, suddenly very small and exposed.

As Cerotto unpacks the mobile drift unit, he rambles, “you know you could die from this right?  And I mean, I guess you’re ok with it…”

“I suppose all that matters is that one of us lives long enough to report back to the Grand Marshall,” he replies dryly, accepting one of the headsets.

Cerotto laughs uncomfortably as he hooks up two nodes to the hindbrain, “for what it’s worth,” he puts on his own headset and sits beside Corteo on the singular bed, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The drift sends them through a gentle rolodex of their childhoods, a rather sad montage of lonely nerds navigating into their own spheres.  Cerotto sees flashes of Corteo’s mother as she withered away from illness, his early friendship with Avilio and – unfortunately – his long standing crush on the black haired boy. Cerotto had a good childhood, wild college days, and a slow settling into his academic career. Despite his best efforts, he knows Corteo is going to notice Cerotto’s interest in him.  _His enormous, several years in the making, nerd crush…_

Neither get a chance to dwell on their convoluted feelings before the drift abruptly tugs to the Kaiju brain, much stronger than the last time.

Everything falls away from Cerotto, sound, light, sensation, and for long horrible moments he’s drowning – until the light comes back.  He almost wishes it didn’t.

The kaiju do have a hive mentality. Through their eyes that don’t see like any earthly organism, a foreign planet spreads out before him, thousands of Kaiju like the ones that had ravaged the Earth for the past decades, and others, bigger, and as he now understands, more _intelligent_.

One of the giants gestures forward and he sees two smaller Kaiju glide towards a massive orifice, edges like visceral petals, sliding open to allow passage through a series of valves and twists until the light goes out again and –

Cerotto is flung back into reality to the sound of the portable drifter shrieking about overheating, and its subsequent fizzling out.  He is vaguely aware that the motel lights are flickering and he probably sapped most of the outdated building’s power for his little experiment.  Beside him, Corteo gasps and it’s a relief that he’s also survived.  Somewhere deep in the drift – in the Kaiju _otherworld_ – he must have reached for Corteo’s hand.  He doesn’t have the capacity at the moment to feel embarrassed, especially since Corteo is death-gripping his hand back to the point he thinks he can feel his bones grate together.

With bleary eyes, Corteo turns to him, leaning close. For a hot second Cerotto thinks _oh my God he’s gonna kiss me-_

The moment is interrupted by Corteo clamping a hand over his own mouth and making a break for the bathroom.  The door hangs open and Cerotto hears retching sounds.  So much for a romantic moment.

With a sigh, Cerotto tests to see if his legs will engage and walks leisurely to the bathroom where Corteo is still doing his best to thoroughly empty his stomach. He reaches down and takes the other scientist’s glasses, lest they accidentally get dropped in the mess. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, wiping off his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, disgusted.

They stand in silence for a solid minute, getting their bearings, reminding themselves that they have in fact returned to earth. 

Corteo’s head snaps up, “You saw it right?”

“Saw what?” He asks. The other scientist was gonna need to be more specific.  He’d see _a lot_.

“ _Two Kaiju_ ,” Corteo emphasizes, “just like I predicted.”

“Oh come on don’t bring your dumb numbers into this my head hurts enough already,” Cerotto whines. 

Corteo deadpans him, eyes squinty without his glasses.  It’s cute.

“I got it, I saw everything you did,” Cerotto runs his free hand through his hair feeling the dread of the situation settle in.  This was no longer a numeric speculation, “it’s a double event.”

The other scientist takes his glasses back, “we have to contact the Grand Marshall.  They’re already on their way…”

Cerotto nods, already moving to gather his things.  He zips up the suitcase, passes Corteo his overcoat, and they make a break for the airport.

* * *

 

Less than an hour later the Grand Marshall has been notified and they are on a plane homebound.

It’s a private jet, and they have the entire cabin area to themselves, save for the piloting crew.

Cerotto fidgets for the first part of the trip before finally broaching the subject.

“Hey Corteo? What you saw in the drift…I just want you to know that I still want to be your friend and I hope you’re ok with that,” it’s a  clunky train of words but he’s mostly pleased that his voice didn’t waver.

The other scientist selects a bottle of water and sits in the seat next to Cerotto, which is frankly, ridiculous, he could sit anywhere, they have a private jet.

“What exactly did I see that would warrant that?” He asks after taking a long drink of water.

“Just um …” _Is he going to make me say it?!_ Cerotto screams internally.

“Listen, why don’t we focus on surviving this double event, then we can talk about the drift.”

It’s a bit of a lackluster response, but admittedly it’s something.

Shortly thereafter, Corteo falls asleep nestled in his ridiculous poofy coat, head resting solidly on Cerotto’s shoulder.

That is also, something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fandom is really sleeping on the Cerotto/Corteo ship like c'mon they could have just run off to Chicago together and been happy if only Corteo wasn't such a salty hoe smh...
> 
> Also I feel a little bad throwing 15k at the jocks and a wimpy 3k at the nerds...
> 
> EDIT: Ok I know Cerotto touches preserved Kaiju parts without gloves but formaldehyde is a carcinogen please exercise lab safety!


	3. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelo’s perspective on Nero and some key moments from the main fic.

Nero Vanettis is not the person he expected him to be.

Angelo has seen plenty of Nero, talk shows, magazine articles, news footage.  For a time when he was high school aged he’d become somewhat obsessed with absorbing material about one of his family’s killers.  Vincent was more difficult to dredge up information on, having withdrawn from piloting and assuming the untouchable role as Grand Marshall.  Nero and his co-pilot Vanno were the shining stars of the Jaeger program, but especially Nero.  His winning smile, signature goatee, overall good-looks paired with a vibrant, sometimes cocky, personality made him the object of many young women’s (and young men’s) fangirling.

Angelo expected that same plastered on publicity face, exuding what he assumed to be fake charm, paired with Nero’s usually spotless appearance when he joined the Shatterdome’s lengthy list of cadets.

Instead the man he sees tossing prospective drift partners to the training room floor with what appears to be grim, well-rehearsed motions is haggard.  Whatever semblance of a shining persona had evaporated; Nero’s hair lay unstyled, longer than usual, goatee fading into a patchy beard, and most interesting, dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well.

Angelo calls the hits (3 to 0), eyes squinting.  Come to think of it, he can’t recall the last time he’d seen Nero on television or in a magazine, not within the past month or two at least. (Though perhaps he can recall a brief moment several months back, after the untimely demise of his drift partner, Nero had looked ruffled then, on grainy paparazzi footage, and politely turned the camera away.)

Evidently, he hasn’t changed much since then.

It’s a bit irritating, actually, Angelo had quite been looking forward to razing down the proud Vanetti.  Taking down Nero now would just be…sad.

When the Grand Marshall finally calls the sparring session to an end, Angelo lingers behind, watching Nero with some sort of cruel satisfaction.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to speak, but he does it anyways.

“You could have been taking all of them down much faster.”

When Nero asks him to spar, he should have said no.

Sparring with Nero feels better than it should.  He ought to be disgusted, being so close to one of his family’s killers.  The sparring really should not feel like some dislodged part of himself was being pushed back into place, making him whole.

In a bought of cold fury he manages to pin Nero to the floor, tying their points.

“Three all,” he breathes, it’s exhilarating.

Something blazes to life in Nero’s eyes, and he should have walked away then.

Nero takes ahold of his wrists, that same light glowing in him,

“You’re going to be my drift partner.”

Naturally he pulls away, because _naturally_ drifting with someone you mean to kill is an entirely stupid idea.  Being Nero’s drift partner is the surest way to make his plan fail, leaving his revenge unfulfilled.

But another part of his mind argues, training alongside Nero brings him close, and if he gets close to him, it’ll be much easier to get closer to Vincent, something he could never do if he stuck with his plan to masquerade as a cadet until he had an opportunity to off them.

Nero doesn’t look like he’ll be letting Angelo through until he agrees.

So he does. 

It will accelerate his plans, yes, but it will be weeks before they drift, and he just needs to ensure that they push off that day for as long as possible.

If he has his way, he’ll never have to share his mind with Nero Vanetti.

* * *

 

One of the first things he notices is that Nero sleeps _a lot_. And he has no respect for schedules. 

When he’s a half hour late for their morning assigned training time Angelo wanders back to his room and proceeds to pound on the door until he can’t feel his hand.  Which isn’t long.  The doors are very very metal.

When this elicits no response, Angelo lets himself in by picking the lock.

It’s a bad idea, in retrospect, Nero could have been in a state of undress, or entertaining a lover or something else that was entirely none of Angelo’s business…

None of his imagined horror-situations come to fruition, Nero is just lying on his cot, asleep.

Angelo approaches him and realizes that he’s not actually asleep, he’s awake, staring off into the distance.

He does manage to finally notice Angelo and fairly jumps out of his skin.

“How did you get in here!?”

“I let myself in,” Angelo deadpans, annoyed, “practice started over a half hour ago, if you cared to be awake enough to attend.”

“I’m awake I just didn’t feel like getting up,” he mutters into his cocoon of blankets.

Angelo crosses his arms and stands over him, “too bad. We have a responsibility now to train together.  And I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he adds, still disgruntled.

Nero has the nerve to give him an annoyed look, but sits up, letting the blankets slide off his upper body, thus partially realizing one of Angelo’s nightmare scenarios: here sat Nero. Sans shirt.

He’d already seen Nero shirtless once this week by accident, and that was _enough_ for a lifetime.  He’s in the middle of a revenge plot and has no time for _distractions_.

…which is precisely what the tanned expanse of Nero’s shoulders and well-defined pectorals are doing –

“And you need to shower,” Angelo quips, the shortness of tone having little to do with Nero being late for practice anymore.

“But we’re going sparring.” Nero sighs, stretching his arms above his head.

Keeping his eyes carefully trained on a patch of wall, Angelo replies, “It’s almost lunchtime, it’s not even worth going. Besides, you stink.”

Nero scoffs, “rude,” but swings himself out of bed, thus, save for a pair of very small boxers, realizing the rest of Angelo’s nightmare scenario.

Angelo’s traitorous eyes catch a quick glimpse of Nero walking to the adjoining bathroom.  Just as he’d thought, Nero had legs for days, very nice ones, and that ass…

Nope nope nope.  Angelo decides he’s going to find the nearest metal wall and _smash his fricking face through it_.

Nero calls to him over the sound of water running, “are you just going to wait in there?”

“Yeah,” Angelo hopes he doesn’t sound as panicked as he probably does. He composes himself back into a monotone, “if I leave you might just go back to sleep.”

He hears a grunt of agreement and Angelo diverts his attention back to re-schooling his mind:

Why is he here? To get revenge for his family, which should not be affected just because one of his family’s murderers happens to have a _really nice booty_ attached to him.

Angelo mostly restored some semblance of order to his thoughts and heartrate when Nero, mostly forgotten, steps out of the bathroom, glistening, in a towel.

Without reacting, Angelo hears himself say, “I’ll wait outside for you while you get dressed.”

He walks out of the room, slams the door, and presses his face into his hands. 

It is official: the universe hates him.

* * *

 

Nero has scars across his chest and lower back.  Angelo noticed day one and never said anything.  He has seen them on many occasions since then but kept quiet, Nero never offered an explanation.

He’s curious, but not enough to broach the subject.

Until one day after practice, they finished sparring, cleaned up in the locker rooms, and as Nero pulled his customary gray-blue sweatshirt over his head Angelo found himself staring at the lines across the dip of his back. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he brushes his thumb over one of the strange raised ridges.

Nero jumps slightly at the contact, twisting around to see the source of the contact, head poking through his sweatshirt, arms partially through the sleeves.  Angelo freezes, unaware of when exactly he’d gotten so close, and uncertain of what to do now that he’d been caught. The older man stares down at him, eyebrows raised. Neither moves for long, awkward moments, Nero seeming to wait for Angelo to say something and Angelo not knowing what to say.

Finally, he retracts his hand and gains some faculty of speech.

“How did that happen?”

Sadness instantly shadows Nero’s expression, and Angelo wonders if he won’t be getting an answer.

He removes his pullover, uncovering the sickle shaped scar across his pectoral, bunching the clothing item agitatedly in his hands, brow furrowed.

“I was burned by my jaeger suit,” he says finally.

Angelo continues to stare, feeling that the explanation is inconsistent with the visceral sadness of Nero’s expression.

He seems to take Angelo’s steady gaze as prying for more detail because Nero fidgets a moment longer and begins to speak.  It feels like, he’s inadvertently opened the flood gates.

“On my last jaeger mission, with Vanno, he…he was pulled from the jaeger and the suits, they weren’t meant to withstand the strain of solo-piloting, so somewhere along the line it overheated and burned me.”  He continues to scrunch his pullover between his hands.

Angelo is aware of the fate of Nero’s previous drift partner, but it’s also something Nero never talks about. The mention of Vanno seems to have the effect of tearing open a wound, everything raw and red and brought close to the surface, still as fresh as though Vanno had died yesterday.

“It’s funny,” Nero continues, as though far away, “I don’t even remember getting burned, not until they pried the jaeger suit off of me.  They told me I walked over a hundred miles before collapsing on the Canadian shore, but I don’t remember much of that either.”

He meets Angelo’s gaze, eyes still shrouded with immeasurable loss, and the younger man isn’t sure what to do.  He didn’t expect such an outpouring.

“I’m sorry,” is all Angelo can manage.  It’s regrettably underwhelming, but Nero seems content with his response nonetheless.

“I should thank you…I’d been seeing a therapist for awhile…and she always encouraged me to talk about…y’know…the accident…with other people.  I never did though, I mean, no one here wanted to touch the topic afterwards, plus I’m the Marshall’s kid, no one wanted to upset me or the Grand Marshall for fear of repercussions…” He trails off, uncertain.

Angelo nods, Nero tends to ramble when he’s uncomfortable.

Nero finally shrugs the pullover back over his head, tugging down the hem until it hung comfortably. He squeezes Angelo’s shoulder with a ghost of a smile on his face.

Angelo doesn’t quite know how to react, he’d always grown up with the mentality that people had to shoulder their problems on their own. Nero was different, always asking Angelo how he was feeling, making sure the program wasn’t overwhelming him. He doesn’t know how to handle an empathetic outpouring, let alone reciprocate.

In the end, he settles with doing nothing, and the two prepare to head back to their rooms, the rest of the day scheduled with free time.

Nero yawns, “I think I’m going to go back for a nap.”

Of course he was.

“Ok but I’m coming over.” Angelo hears himself say before he can fully compute.

Nero gives him a strange look, “I’m going to be napping, won’t be able to be a good host…”

“I’ll bring cards, you can sleep,” Angelo shrugs.

“But I’ll be napping, you won’t have anyone to play with,” Nero argues.

“Solitaire is a game,” Angelo deadpans.

“What would you be doing otherwise?”

“I’d still be playing cards.”

“You can play cards in your own room.”

“But you won’t be there,” Angelo pinches the bridge of his nose.

“But I’ll be sleeping.”

“That’s _fine_.” Sometimes Nero was like talking to a brick wall.

“So…you just want to come over…to keep me company?” Nero pieces together.

Angelo feels compelled to look away, “yes. What of it?”

A delighted upturn makes its way to the corners of Nero’s mouth, too often downturned, “it’s just…unexpected.”

A flush starts creeping up the back of Angelo’s neck and it needs to _stop_. He shoves Nero lightly in the direction of their quarters.

“Whatever, don’t read too much into it…”

Nero sleeps; Angelo plays solitaire.  For a couple hours all is silent.

Deeply engrossed in his game, Angelo startles when he feels a warm puff of air against the back of his neck.

“You could take the three and four of spades and put them up,” Nero’s voice is slurred and he slings an arm, heavy with sleep, over Angelo’s shoulder to point. 

“I’m waiting,” he replies, petulant, “I know I’m going to win, this just makes it more challenging.”

“Mmm, I see,” Nero mumbles.  Angelo wonders how long he’s been watching.

Keeping a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape, Nero slides out of bed and sits opposite of Angelo, cross-legged.

“Deal me in,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Angelo deadpans him, “it’s solitaire.”

“When you’re done with that game, surely you know some other games?  Kings corners? Crazy Eights?” Nero offers.

“Gin,” Angelo finishes turning over cards.

He slides the mass of cards to Nero who stacks them and shuffles them. They exchange cards in silence for several minutes. Angelo notices that Nero has a single collaged image hanging on his wall.  It had been made clear to Angelo in the past weeks that Nero was not the braggart, attention hound, walls-plastered-with-his-own-accomplishments-asshole he had anticipated, but the singular image confused him.

“What is that picture?” Angelo asks, re-ordering his cards.

“Oh that,” Nero smirks, “those are all the tabloid clippings from after I came out on a talk-show.”

He raises an eyebrow, “why that in particular?”

“It’s funny.  All the tabloids were in shock,” he mimes a fake voice, “what? Nero Vanetti am gay???”

Angelo snorts.

“I mean, it’s never something I hid but I guess I just wanted to set the record straight.  Honestly Vanno caught the most flack for it, everyone thought we were a couple,” Nero laughs weakly.  The mention of Vanno still seems to be an open wound but perhaps the effect has been softened, even a little bit from mere hours earlier.

“You weren’t?” Angelo asks honestly.

“Nah, he’s like the big brother I never had, I mean we were the same age, but he was always looking out for me.  He was in love with my sister, actually,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“You have a sister?” he prompts.

“Fio.  She’s off completing her masters in engineering.  Then she’ll be right back here building Jaegers.  All the brains went to her honestly,” he smiles fondly.

“They sure did,” Angelo agrees, laying down his cards, “gin.”

“What when did you do that?” Nero looks between their cards.

“It was easy, I just got you talking,” Angelo feels himself smiling.

“Yeah we’ll see if I fall for that again,” Nero picks up the cards, “re-deal.”

Angelo shrugs and shuffles.

“I was a little afraid that people would dislike me, or badly associate the jaeger program after the talk show,” Nero admits, “but…my dad actually, you know what he said?  He goes ‘Kaiju kill people. You kill kaiju.  If people have a problem with you being gay then maybe humanity deserves to die’ then he muttered something about ‘it’s 20goddamn23, I’m too old for this…’”

“Shit,” Angelo shakes his head, “you broke a lot of fangirl hearts.”

“Oh, you remember that?” Nero teases, “were you a fan?”

“Absolutely not,” Angelo slides his cards forward, “I win again.”

Nero accepts defeat gracefully, reshuffles and deals out another hand.

“Alright, no more talking about me,” he says stubbornly, “tell me something about yourself.”

Angelo is not about to reveal anything as deeply personal as Nero had, but this whole exchange has him in a good mood, so he’ll humor Nero.

“I like pineapple, and silence.”

Nero regards him curiously, “well unfortunately you won’t be getting one of those from me.”

Angelo doesn’t need to ask to know he won’t be getting any silence.

They chat amicably for the better part of the afternoon, Nero doing most the talking, and Angelo taking all the wins except the ones he let Nero have. 

Angelo retreats to his room finally, put off by how cold and empty it felt. He feels a strange warmth lingering in his chest and he’d really prefer if it went away (rather, if it had never existed at all).

The next day he feels back to normal, apathetic, and focused.  Until after sparring he finds a small tin of candied pineapple tucked into his possessions.  When he picks it up, a tiny bit of the warmth returns.

* * *

 

It used to irritate Angelo to no end when siblings didn’t get along with each other because at least they _had_ siblings.

But then he grew older and discovered most families were actually pretty shitty, and dropped the notion. The loss of his own, deeply loving, family felt like a slap in the face the more dysfunctional family units he encountered in the foster system.

He had long since put behind him thoughts of family, but some vestige of his younger, more idealistic, self must have crawled out the moment he suggested to Nero that he try to repair his relationship with Frate.

Nero doesn’t waste time, and Angelo finds himself being dragged through the hallways of the Shatterdome. 

The moment he sees Ronaldo outside of Frate’s quarters he knows something bad is about to happen.  He’d seen that Ronaldo was supplying Frate with something, not a drug known to Angelo but then again, anything involving Kaiju by products would most certainly prove damaging.

The following minutes pass in a blur: Frate seizing, Nero flying into a rage, and Angelo, driven by a subconscious need to calm Nero, takes control of the situation. 

Predictably, Ronaldo flees the moment it’s clear Nero won’t be punching his face in.

Angelo is left alone with Frate. 

It would be easy to let him die.  Just like that, one Vanetti down.  He could weave some tragic tale of how Frate stopped breathing before the paramedics could make it.  Nero would believe him, he already has Nero sold, hood, line, and sinker.

And besides, it’s fair, a little brother for a little brother.

Angelo kneels beside Frate and regards him.  His eyes are wide with terror, limbs twitching at intervals, his whole body convulsing on occasion. He looks so different from Nero, soft blonde hair, dark blue eyes…

For a horrible second Angelo imagines if his position was reversed, if it were Luce lying sick and poisoned, and Nero holding his life in his hands. 

Nero wouldn’t hesitate to save Luce, or anyone really, it’s just the sort of person he is.

A new plan formulates in Angelo’s mind, a better plan.  If he saves Frate, it will further ingratiate him to Nero thus making it easier to eliminate the Vanettis when the time is right. It’s the most _logical_ solution.

He snaps his fingers rapidly in front of Frate’s face.

“Hey, don’t go falling asleep on me,” Angelo continues his snapping onslaught, “Help is on its way.  You have to pull through for Nero, he was on his way here to make amends with you.”

Frate groans weakly but continues fighting for consciousness.  He doesn’t stop talking to Frate or making jarring noise around him until the paramedics appear.

Angelo is quickly hustled to the sidelines while the professionals do their work.  Through the doorway, he sees Nero slumped against the wall across the hall, face drawn.  He’s not fully conscious of doing so, but finds himself beside Nero, mirroring his posture against the wall. Nero acknowledges him by letting his head fall against Angelo’s shoulder.  The younger man would usually shrink at the contact, but he doesn’t this time.  Doesn’t feel the need.

He allows himself to be plastered to Nero for the proceeding hours.  His normally good-natured drift partner seems to be one piece of bad news away from breaking down. So Angelo stays close, and every once in awhile Nero looks back at him, beaming gratitude.

When they receive word that Frate will be in a medically induced coma for the near future, Nero takes it fairly well. He sinks into a chair and sort of stares off into space until Angelo occupies the seat next to it, then Nero sinks his head against Angelo’s shoulder again.

Some time later, Angelo excuses himself with the alibi of seeking food, using hunger as a tool to step out of the medical bay, and circumventing the real motivation for his leaving was because he couldn’t stand seeing Nero in this frayed emotional turmoil.  He would return, yes.  Nero needed him, that had been made agonizingly clear, but Angelo had to breathe for a few minutes. 

He does get food, even if Nero refuses it.

A nurse informed him on his way in that they can’t spend the night in the waiting room, leaving Angelo to embark on the task of telling Nero they needed to leave. He’s not sure how the eldest Vanetti son will react.

Nero complies with a bone-deep weariness.  He doesn’t like seeing Nero like this, not after he had bounced back to being his good-natured self in the past weeks.

Parting with Nero at the door to his room, Angelo finds himself saying,

“If you need anything tonight, just knock, I’ll be here.”

Nero suddenly takes one of his hands, pressing it warmly between his palms.

 “You’re very sweet,” Nero says softly, “more so than you wish for others to see.”

Angelo isn’t sure he can physically handle the amount of fondness in Nero’s eyes right now.  He hadn’t done anything that a normal drift partner would not have done, it felt like he hadn’t done anything at all.  But here stood Nero, grateful for his presence alone. Angelo has to look at the floor, if he looks at Nero now he might do something stupid like fling himself into his arms.  It’s either that or total apathy, there’s no in between.

Apathy presides, though his face heats up, body traitorously overriding the mind.

Nero releases his hand and Angelo instantly presses it to his chest, as though he can preserve the warmth of Nero’s gratitude. He waits until Nero’s door swings shut before returning to his room.  Without changing out of his clothes, Angelo curls up on his bed, squeezing his knees to his chest.

* * *

 

He awakes to the amicable chatting of Nero and someone else in the hallway. Upon closer listening, the unknown voice belongs to Barbero, one of what Angelo is sure is a rather large faction of Shatterdome inhabitants who were in deep crushing on Nero.

Because Barbero got to bark orders during Jaeger battles, he seemed to think that he had a chance with Nero.

Angelo rolls himself out of bed and runs a cursory hand through his hair.  Barbero also isn’t too subtle about his disdain for Angelo, clearly feeling threatened that a nobody outsider managed to worm his way into a position that required him to spend most his waking hours with Nero.

He eavesdrops a moment longer on their conversation, noting Barbero’s posture, leaning towards Nero as though hanging on his every word.

Angelo can’t have that, now can he?

He creeps up behind the two, startling Barbero.  Not Nero.  Nero just looks genuinely happy to see him. 

“’morning Avilio,” He greets.

“Morning Nero, Barbero,” Angelo replies coolly, “did you sleep alright, Nero?”

“No, but it’s fine,” is his response.  

Pretending Barbero isn’t even there, though making an effort to brush past him, Angelo positions himself between the two, toe to toe with Nero, about as close as publicly decent.

“You sure you’re alright?” Angelo murmurs. He settles his hands on Nero’s shoulders, sweeping his thumbs under Nero’s collarbones in a gesture he hopes is comforting.

“Alright is a bit of a stretch, but I’ll manage,” he leans into Angelo’s touch, eyes falling half closed.  His hands come to rest lightly on Angelo’s waist. 

Behind them, he can feel Barbero simply _fuming._ Too easy, all of this, much too easy.

“Let’s go,” Nero prompts, clearly not interested in moving.  He seems to compose himself, “best to not keep the Marshall waiting too long.”

Could three people walk down the hall together in tandem?  Possibly.  But Angelo ensures that he and Nero take up enough space that Barbero has to walk a few paces behind.  It’s a perfect set up, really.  He can casually brush his hand against Nero’s as they walk, pleasing Nero, and making Barbero boil over with jealously.

When they wheel around a corner Angelo shoots him a smirk over his shoulder and the bespectacled man’s face grows somehow more pinched with disdain.

It’s all too easy.

* * *

 

Tormenting Barbero aside, Angelo can’t help but feel a lingering uncertainty.  He had wanted to avoid drifting with Nero at all costs but…he feels confident now that he will be able to avoid certain memories.  Nero assured him that as long as they focused on their shared experiences, the drift should go without a hitch.

Vaguely, he remembers having a conversation with Corteo, who, cautious as ever, had warned him against going through with being Nero’s drift partner.  So much had changed since then.

 

The drift is unlike anything Angelo has experienced, no amount of simulation could have prepared him.

Nero chases the rabbit, and maybe a few weeks ago Angelo would have let him go indefinitely, until they had to shut down the drift, and let Nero blame himself for being to emotionally unstable to drift.  But Angelo acutely feels every facet of his pain, his loss, and he wants nothing more in those moments than to stop Nero from reliving the worst days of his life.

Doing so reveals every plot, every plan, everything Angelo had wanted to hide.

By the time the drift shuts down, Angelo feels like he’s been inside it for days, drained mentally and emotionally.  He sags against the tethers holding him into the Jaeger.  He can’t look at Nero.

A flurry of events later, he’s in a cage, Ganzo is in league with the Galassias, he knows the truth about his family’s death, and Nero’s involvement.  His lack of involvement, as Angelo might have guessed, Nero wasn’t the sort to abandon people.

It doesn’t stop him from being angry, with every horrible part of his life dredged to the surface, fresh and raw in his mind.  He can blame Nero, even if he knows it’s useless, nothing will bring his family back, nor erase the rift driven between him and Nero. 

Angelo begins thinking of a way out, this is a major hitch in his plan, but maybe he can still escape imprisonment. 

Planning quickly becomes irrelevant when Cerotto appears to announce the double event.

Something flares to life in Angelo the moment he hears Nero say that he’ll pilot solo, something that started weeks ago in the training room, something that Angelo hadn’t quite managed to squash away-

He hears himself shouting, clanging on the bars,

Nero is colder than he’s ever seen him when he approaches.

Angelo feels disembodied when he begs – and it is begging, he’s cornered himself

Nero could die and he seems unconcerned.  It should make Angelo happy.

It does. It should.  Does it?

Angelo listens to the sound of Nero’s receding footsteps, hanging onto the sound until there’s silence.  He sinks back into the folding chair.

It doesn’t.

When Corteo unlocks his cuffs, running away barely crosses his mind. 

“Why are you here?” Nero asks him.

Angelo doesn’t know, he stayed but to what end…

Slogging out into the ocean, Angelo considers the possibility that now they both might die, inexperienced together in combat and in emotional turmoil.

Maybe it’s time he make peace with himself, with Nero.

* * *

 

Fighting beside Nero, free of secrets, had felt better than revenge could have ever felt.

Falling asleep in the warm curve of Nero’s embrace somehow surpassed the drift.

It wasn’t a stretch to claim Angelo was a stranger to human contact, but Nero managed to scale his defenses and end up inside, perhaps without realizing he’d done so.

Sometime in the middle of the night Angelo wakes up and stares into the murky darkness of the room.  Nero still clings stubbornly to him, nuzzling his shoulder in his sleep and tugging Angelo tighter against him. He feels himself relax in degrees, wishing that he could live in a reality where he could get used to this.

Barbero decides to disturb Nero’s slumber for the second day in a row.

While Nero answers the door, Angelo picks up one of Nero’s discarded sweatshirts off his floor.  It seems clean enough.  Angelo slips it over his head, it’s huge and soft and it smells like Nero.  He’s keeping it.

Not willing to miss an opportunity to torment Barbero, Angelo sweeps into the conversation, slinging his arm around Nero’s waist with a deeply suggestive familiarity.  He knows Barbero is currently cataloguing their sleep disheveled appearances, the telltale sweatshirt, and Angelo’s smug expression.  Even Nero seems to pick up on Angelo’s ploy, shooting him a strange look while Barbero fumes. 

The day peaks about there and proceeds to head downhill. 

With his identity revealed, Angelo knows the Grand Marshall won’t be letting him remain on base as anything but a prisoner. He packs his things.  Somewhere in his careless movements stuffing a singular duffle bag, the tin of candied pineapples, now empty, Nero had gifted him tumbles to the floor. He picks it up mournfully.

_Ask Nero to come with you_ , he thinks, he has nothing to lose.

Nero won’t, or can’t, and Angelo doesn’t think he can handle asking only to be turned down.  He’s not that special, and Nero will find another drift partner.

A cadet knocks on his door about the time he plans to leave and informs him that he has twelve hours to leave the Shatterdome.

Angelo brushes by the young woman without a word.  He’s relieved it wasn’t Barbero, he wouldn’t have felt up to dealing with the vicious pleasure he would have taken in dismissing him.  He’s also relieved that the Grand Marshall has heart enough to not have sent Nero.

He nearly reaches the exit, only to be halted by Ganzo.

The man crosses his arms, effectively barring the door with his girth.

“Leaving so soon?” He asks.

Angelo has no patience for this.

“Marshal’s orders.”

“Have you thought about my offer?” Ganzo reminds him.

Angelo has to rewind his mind rapidly to their conversation, only the previous day but what felt like weeks ago.

“I can’t disobey a direct order from the Grand Marshal,” he shrugs, tugging his suitcase as a passive aggressive indication for Ganzo to _move the hell out of the way_.

He has no indication of moving however, a sly grin working its way onto his features.

“I don’t think you understand what I’ve offered, because if you did,” he straightens, “you would understand that I can’t just let you walk out of here knowing what you know.”

Angelo narrows his eyes, body tensing for a fight.

But Ganzo pats him on the shoulder, “just say yes.  I can smooth things over with Vincent.  We might yet be able to salvage this situation.  You get your revenge, I get power. Hell, you even have Nero fooled, he vouched for you to stay.”

His glare deepens but Ganzo is right.  He _can_ salvage this situation.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

Ganzo smiles triumphantly, as if Angelo had a choice to say no.

“We’ll be in touch.” He finally removes his hand from Angelo’s shoulder and he is relived to be free of that man’s presence. 

For a solid minute Angelo buffers in the same spot, so single minded moments ago about leaving.  Finally, he seems to realize _I can stay_.  He runs back to his room and throws his suitcase inside, he can unpack later, for now his mind is singularly occupied with one thing: Nero.

The man in question is not in his room.  Angelo sprints over to the trainng room, finding Tigre and Volpe, but no Nero.

“I think he went to the hangar, he usually does when he’s upset,” Volpe mentions thoughtfully.

“And boy did he look upset today,” Tigre mutters.

Angelo absconds. Hearing “Nero” and “upset” in the same phrase is enough.

By the time he reaches the hangar, the sun is setting. Nero is a tiny slumped silhouette in the distance.   Angelo hurries to him, slowing as he approaches. He’s really not good at this.

But the look Nero gives him when he takes his cigarette, face lighting up brighter than the setting sun, makes him feel like things might turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought Nero was thirsty and had no chill but I was wrong Angelo is at least 10x worse. Plus he has the emotional intelligence of an ice cube. 
> 
> One more fluffy short planned after this one :)
> 
> Also I forgot to mention last chapter but part of the motivation to do the Pacific Rim AU was because Strega and Hannibal Chau have the same energy.


	4. What is Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelo realizes he's not really sure what love is. He's about to get more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "one more fluffy short" I say almost 10k words later...

_Several weeks later_

Angelo slides back into the easy routine of living in the Shatterdome, perhaps easier now that he doesn’t need to hide himself from Nero. 

Another Kaiju shows up and the combined forces of the _Goliath_ and the _Tigerfox_ easily dispatch it. Angelo has his first talk-show appearance, which he hates.  The best news comes in the form of Frate waking from his induced coma, confused, annoyed (and asking where Ronaldo was, which left Angelo annoyed…).  He was in the process of recovering nicely.

One other thing has been bothering Angelo though, so he finally works up the courage to broach the topic with Nero.

They’re hanging out in Nero’s quarters on one of their free afternoons, Nero reads a book and Angelo plays cards.  He sets down his hand of solitaire and asks:

“Nero, are you in love with me?”

He drops his book and makes no move to recover it.

“Uh,” he makes an unintelligent sound, rubbing the back of his neck, “yeah it’s pretty obvious isn’t it…”

Angelo sort of stares blankly at him.

“I mean, I figured you saw in the drift but…I didn’t want to mention it and risk messing up our drift equilibrium. And also because I’m pretty sure…you don’t feel the same…” He trails off.

He thinks for a minute before answering, “no, I don’t feel the same.”

“Yeah…” Nero looks away ruefully, “I hope it doesn’t bother you, but I am happy to be your friend, just being around you is enough.”

Angelo nods.  One question is answered.  But another one is raised…he’s pretty sure he’s not in love with Nero…but he’s also not sure he knows what it’s like to be in love, period.

He decides to do a bit of research in the form of watching a rom com. It backfires immensely, not only is the plot boring, the couple looked at each other _once_ and seemed to decide they were in love.  The first time Angelo saw Nero he was plotting his death, so that clearly ruled out “love at first sight”.  Using the rom com was unrealistic, real life didn’t have any dramatic swells of music indicating to real people “hey maybe it’s time to kiss now”, and neither character had much substance besides their interest in the other character.  Angelo quits watching about halfway through and resigns himself to some self-reflection. He is still in Nero’s room, the other being elsewhere for the afternoon, some business with Vincent in the medical bay.

Few and far between, Angelo had dated people, but he’d never been the one to do the asking out, and all of those potential relationships had inevitably fallen apart with Angelo feeling like he was going through the motions versus having any real interest in the other person. He’s nearly certain none of those relationships had actually constituted love. 

Feeling annoyed that he’d wasted the better part of an afternoon musing over _love_ , Angelo resorts to playing solitaire while he waits for Nero’s return.

The man in question swings open the door in the early evening, face drawn and posture weary. Angelo says nothing as Nero takes a seat on the edge of his bed, slumping down, resting his forehead in his palms.

Calmly stacking his cards back together, Angelo replaces them in their paper sleeve and moves to sit beside Nero, a few inches apart.

In a few minutes, Nero begins speaking.

“Got some bad news about my dad’s brain cancer today,” he runs a hand through his hair, “it’s pretty sad huh? Our go-to father-son bonding activity is getting matching full body scans to check for cancer from radiation and neurological strain from solo piloting.”

Angelo’s eyes flare wide, “you’re not-”

Nero shakes his head, pressing a reassuring hand to Angelo’s forearm, “no no, I’m fine, my scans have never been anything but perfectly clean. Dad though…they think his brain cancer is taking a turn for the worse and…he doesn’t want to have some miserable long-shot treatment.  To be honest, they told him he had six months to live almost two years ago.  I guess he’s living off borrowed time…”  Nero sounds miserable, “I know you don’t like him but…”

“He’s still your father,” Angelo mutters.

Nero beams over at him, and he can surely see the tightness of Angelo’s face at the mention of Vincent, but he’s grateful nonetheless. 

They subconsciously shift closer to one another until Nero leans lightly against Angelo’s shoulder.

“Can you stay here tonight?” Nero asks.

Angelo hesitates, because he always does at the mere mention of comfort.

“Yeah, sure, just lemme change into my pajamas and brush my teeth,” it’s still pretty early in the evening, but he might as well get ready now so he doesn’t have to pull himself away from Nero later on.

When he returns, Nero is lying on his side on his cot, staring off into space. Angelo lies opposite him, facing his drift partner.

“I’m just going to lie here for a bit,” Nero mumbles.

“Alright, I’ll be here,” Angelo responds.

Nero smiles up at him, brushing the back of his hand across his cheek. 

He finds himself smiling back.

It never ceases to amaze Angelo, Nero’s sheer capacity for empathy. Angelo knows, more viscerally now, that he grew up emotionally stunted, but even had he not, every male role model he had always stressed that it was better and more acceptable to repress emotions, that emotions equated weakness. Angelo might have even bought into that mentality before meeting Nero.  He would never once consider his drift partner anything but strong, someone who had the loss of his best and longest friend carved permanently into his soul, whose little brother had been in and out of a coma in the past month, whose father was dying of brain cancer, and Nero still walked the halls of the Shatterdome, smiling and joking with the other rangers and cadets.

Shortly thereafter, Nero presses his face into the soft fabric of Angelo’s sweatshirt, arms snaking around his waist.  He clings tightly and cries, shoulders trembling.  Angelo can only imagine that he’d spent the majority of the day stoically taking in the news that his father was withering away before his eyes.  Now he could properly lament, in the comfort of his own room, with only Angelo as a witness.

Angelo drapes his arms across Nero’s back and rubs soft circles between his shoulder blades with the heel of his hand. He’s not good at the comforting thing yet, but Nero responds appreciatively, sniffling and nuzzling Angelo’s chest. Somewhere along the way, Nero falls asleep, too emotionally drained to stay awake.  For lack of better options, with Nero still koala’d onto his chest, Angelo drifts off too.

In the morning they wake up about the same time and move through the motions of getting ready for the day, and it’s almost scary how easily Angelo has settled into a domestic routine with Nero.

“Vanno and I used to share a double room,” Nero says, mouth full of toothbrush and toothpaste.

“We should see about moving into one of those,” Angelo shrugs.

Nero spits out the toothpaste, “because it is _so far_ going across the hallway to get to each other’s rooms.”

Angelo rolls his eyes and continues carding his fingers through his hair.  His hairbrush is in his room, which would be here with him _if they shared a room_.

He had done a bit more thinking about what Nero said about being in love, and Angelo’s own painful lack of understanding about what being in love even felt like.

“Nero?” He calls out as the older man prepares to leave, “I thought more about what you said about liking me and um…even though I’m pretty sure I’m not in love with you, you’re precious to me.  So that’s…yeah…that’s all.”  His face has flamed red, but he can’t really find it in himself to care.

Nero pauses at the door and a smile works its way onto his tired face, “I’m glad to hear it.  Close and lock the door behind you when you leave please?”

“Yeah,” Angelo mumbles as Nero disappears through the doorway.  Angelo waits a few more minutes to school his heated cheeks back to a reasonably pale hue before heading out to start his day.

They reconvene for a brief bout of training mid-morning. The room has become crowded recently with the addition of a third active drift team: their very own chef Fango and his long-time partner Serpente, piloting the brand new jaeger the _Fanged Snake_. After going a few rounds in the ring, they depart again, Nero heading to the medical bay to have lunch with Frate. Angelo feels a twinge of warmth upon hearing it, relieved that Nero and his brother were actively trying to repair their bond.

Left without his usual lunch partner, Angelo wanders to the science bay to bother Corteo and Cerotto.

He rings them to let him in nearly a dozen times.  The lights are on, and they practically live in the lab, so he _knows_ they’re there. Sighing, he pulls out his lock picks and fools the electronic system into unlocking the door for a brief moment.

Rounding the corner, Angelo is confronted with the reason neither were answering. Cerotto sits on their shared desk with Corteo standing between his knees. 

They’re making out, like, glued-to-each-other, teenagers-behind-the-bleachers, very-obvious-tongue-action making out.

If Angelo were a polite person, he would leave and let them have their moment, or moments, or potentially, based on the ruffled state of Corteo’s hair, their couple hours.

He’s not polite though.

“Wow,” Angelo creeps within ten feet of the scientists, “I didn’t realize the science bay was offering tonsil examinations.”

The two jolt apart.

“That would be the medical bay _thank you_ ,” Corteo snaps.

Cerotto on the other hand still looks blissfully dazed and unconcerned with Angelo’s intrusion.

Hands on his hips, Corteo demands, “how did you get in here?”

“You weren’t answering so I picked the lock,” Angelo shrugs.

Corteo, more flustered than anything, still can’t stay angry at Angelo for long and seems to deflate.

“What do you want?” He huffs, mock-annoyed.

“Nero’s having lunch with his brother, so I thought I’d have lunch with you two,” Angelo sneaks him a sly side-eye, “though it looks like you’re busy with a midday snack-”

The sharp elbow to the ribs he receives is well worth it.

“You’re not attached at the hip with Nero?  What ever are you going to do?” Cerotto, having finally come to his senses, raises a dramatic arm to cover his eyes behind them.

“What do you mean by that?” Angelo deadpans, confused.

Corteo claps him on the shoulder, “you know what, I’m gonna grab my lunch.  I’ll be back in fifteen.” He proceeds to manhandle Angelo outside the lab into a small breakroom. 

Luckily, it is empty, save for the two of them.

They manage to eat in silence for a few minutes.

“How did you know you were in love with Cerotto?” Angelo asks out of the blue.

Corteo pauses mid-drink, “are you asking me this because you’re trying to figure out if you’re in love with Nero?”

“No.” Angelo responds petulantly.

His oldest friend rolls his eyes as though Angelo is the most ridiculous human being he has to deal with, when in reality that role is obviously already taken by Cerotto.

“Honestly, I had a feeling he might have been crushing on me, but I didn’t know for sure until we drifted together.” He sets down his drink and laces his fingers together thoughtfully, “I mean I had my doubts at first, we’re colleagues and I didn’t’ want things to be awkward, I’d always thought Cerotto was a dumbass kaiju groupie, but…he really surprised me, and I guess now that I’m noticing more, he’s a really remarkable person,” Corteo seems to realize he’s blushing and tries to collect himself, “it’s a little awkward, but I know I liked you for the longest time, even after you rejected me, and I guess…it just felt like it was time to try  liking someone else.  Someone who wasn’t my childhood crush or my work.”

It doesn’t really answers Angelo’s question, but he’s at least glad that he and Corteo can have heart-to-heart conversations.

“So it sounds like, you winged it?” Angelo summarizes.

“Most times in love, you have no choice but to wing it,” Corteo affirms, “and if you were trying to figure out if you’re in love with Nero, which I know you aren’t, I would tell you to just go for it.  This isn’t a rom com, no magical signs are going to appear to tell you.”

Angelo nods, even though the response remains unhelpful.  They move on to lighter subjects as they finish their lunches.

Cerotto waves to Angelo as he leaves after dropping Corteo off at the science bay, “give us a heads up, and we’d be happy to have lunch with you any day, that is, if you’re not too tied up with Nero!”

Angelo waves back with a vague smile.  It’s really shaping up to be a good day.

Until he passes Ganzo in the hallway and the older man slips him a piece of a paper ordering a private meeting within the next hour. 

Ganzo rambles about the details of the Black Market-ending-the-Jaeger-Program scheme and Angelo can barely convince himself to listen.

“Within the next month,” he continues, “we’ll need to have you make a formal in-person introduction to Strega Galassia.  I’m certain he’ll be impressed with your track record, having almost flawlessly infiltrated the Jaeger program all on your own.”

Angelo nods, pretending to really be soaking in every word, “is that everything for today?”

Ganzo drums his fingers on the table, “there is one thing I need to be assured of.  You’ve grown close to Nero, all a ruse I understand, but you’re in deep, and you’re convincing.  Though I understand being undetectable is a testament to your skill as a spy.”

“What are you getting at?” his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“When the time comes, will you still be able to kill Nero, without question?” Ganzo levels with him.

For a brief moment, Angelo’s mind goes white and he seriously considers lungeing across the table to wring Ganzo’s fat neck. 

He reels himself in, all cool, no emotion.

“Of course, that is part of the ultimate goal, is it not?”

Ganzo nods, satisfied, and dismisses Angelo.

He puts his hands in his pockets and shuffles back to his quarters.  Something about his nearly-violent reaction nags him.  It was normal to want to stand up to anyone who might threaten Nero, but going from zero to “I will blow my cover to strangle the guy who dared put ‘Nero’ and ‘kill’ in the same sentence” felt a bit extreme.  If someone threatened the life of Corteo or Cerotto, his other friends, he’d certainly make the person responsible regret their choices, but with the mention of Nero, his response had been visceral, lacking all the level-headed calculation that usually drove his actions. 

Nero’s light is on when he approaches his quarters and Angelo instinctively moves to knock on the door. 

Corteo had told him not to look to rom-coms for real-life advice but…among all the useless tropes one stood out as particularly useful.

Upon hearing his knock, Nero lets Angelo inside with a warm smile.  The younger man takes a seat on Nero’s bed because he still hasn’t gotten around to getting a folding chair or something.

He steels himself before announcing, “Nero I think I might actually love you.”

The man in question almost trips and falls on his way back from locking the door.

“Well that’s…kind of underwhelming…um but what made you think that?” He straightens up, smoothly covering his near face-plant.

Angelo fidgets, maybe he should have thought about this longer.  Nero’s impulsiveness is wearing off on him.

“I just spoke to Ganzo, about the Black Market and what not which is fine, he doesn’t suspect anything,” he trails off to fidget with the folds of Nero’s bedspread, “but he asked me to confirm that I’d still be prepared to kill you when the time comes…and I wanted to strangle him for it.”

He looks up at Nero plaintively, “is that love?”

In all the rom coms, when the love interest was in danger, the other protagonist always freaked out and was prepared to do anything to protect their love interest.

Nero’s head is cocked to the side, not very promising. He closes the gap between them and sits cross-legged on the floor at Angelo’s feet.

“I’m not sure…wanting to kill someone because they threaten someone you care about is love per say…” he folds his hands together, “I am touched that you’re so quick to leap to my defense.”

“That’s not all,” Angelo fidgets with his hands, “when you were unconscious after our first Kaiju battle, I panicked.  You weren’t coming to and I didn’t’ know what I would do if you had died. I can’t remember the last time I was that scared,” he wrings out his hands, face flushed pink and for once he doesn’t bother to hide it.

Nero laughs softly, “I wondered if that might be why you decided to use mouth-to-mouth, even though that’s not a standard part of CPR anymore.”

“It’s not?” Angelo asks dumbly, face burning brighter than before.

“No they went to solely compressions years ago, when’s the last time you were certified?”

“Middle school,” Angelo mumbles, “I lied on my cadet application.”

Nero laughs, “well, what you’re feeling is definitely something, don’t discount that.  And if you ever decide you actually love me, no doubts in your mind, I’ll take you out on a proper date.”

“Out? We can’t leave the Shatterdome,” Angelo raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“We could go to the mess hall?” Nero suggests, “when it’s empty?”

“We go there every day. You know better than most that it’s never empty,” he deadpans.

“I could ask Fango to make you some special pancakes?” he offers.

Angelo sighs loudly, “Nero we already beg pancakes from Fango on at least a weekly basis.”

He throws his arms into the air, “fine we could just get together and watch movies or play cards.”

“We…do that…already,” Angelo tips his head to the side, crossing his arms dramatically.

They pause and stare at one another for long moments, a burning question on both of their tongues:

_Have we actually been dating for weeks?_

Neither get a chance to ask.  Nero’s pager intervenes with a series of rapid beeps.

“Oh shit, we need to be somewhere.”

Angelo rises to his feet to match Nero, “Ok?”

“Come down to the helipad with me,” Nero takes ahold of Angelo’s hand, not seeming to realize he’d done so.

“Why?” He takes stock of his hand being held but makes no move to pull away.

“I have a surprise for you,” his drift partner beams.

Angelo does remove his hand, expression narrowing, “it’s not a surprise party, is it?”

Nero shakes his head, “no no no, I know you’d hate that.  It’s…just trust me ok?” there is a pleading tone in his voice.

The younger man doesn’t look convinced, so Nero takes both of his hands again, lacing their fingers together.

“It’s important,” Nero says softly, “I think you’ll be happy with it.”

Angelo exhales, “ok, let’s go.”

Predictably, at his acquiescence, Nero’s face cracks in to a brilliant smile. 

They walk side by side to the helipad and Angelo mutters, “if this is a surprise party, I’m gonna change my mind about not killing you.”

Nero laughs, “I’d like to see you try,” he ruffles Angelo’s silky hair, marveling at the texture and that his grumpy partner didn’t instantly pull away. (Maybe he’s going crazy, but Angelo might have _leaned in_ to his touch.)

At the helipad, they wait just inside the doors, torrential rains on the other side of the glass.

“It was sunny _all week_ then the moment I need good weather…” Nero grumbles.

Minutes later, a helicopter, buffeted on all sides by the wind, makes its landing.  A singual r figure emerges, wrapped in a heavy raincoat, face obscured by goggles.  They walk towards the door, with lanky strides.

Before Angelo can give Nero an accusatory “this was your big surprise” look, he ushers the person inside.

The figure promptly discards the raincoat and goggles to reveal a young man, relatively tall and slim in build.  Blonde hair falls to his shoulders, held up in a partial ponytail which frames a soft face, offset by sharp blue eyes.

“Uh, which one of you is Nero who I’m supposed to meet with?”

“That’s me,” Nero pipes up, looking between Angelo and the newcomer.

Angelo stands as though frozen, staring intently.

“Listen, the helicopter ride was a nice touch, but I don’t think as a newly accepted cadet that I should be getting special treatment,” he crosses his arms.

Angelo’s brain fills with white static the longer he stares at the blonde boy because it’s _not possible_.

“Luce?” Angelo breathes.

The blonde boy turns slowly. “Yes, that's my name.”

His mouth feels dry when he asks, “do you know who I am?”

Luce's face shifts to something unpleasantly drawn, “I know. You're _Avilio.”_ A degree of malice pervades his tone. It puts Angelo on edge, tensed for conflict.

“I’m your brother,” Angelo says, void of emotion.

“Guess we’re doing this now,”Luce mutters, taking two steps forward, “alright _Avilio Bruno_ , how the hell was I supposed to know who you were?”

Angelo stares blankly at him, brain desperately buffering to keep up with this revelation, Luce’s sudden anger.

“You were dead.”

“No _you_ were dead,” Luce jabs a finger between Angelo’s eyes and it takes all his composure not to bat him away.  To his dismay, Luce managed to grow a few inches taller than him. “I looked _everywhere_ for you, the moment I figured out how to use Google, and nothing! Just the official report that you were missing!” He seems to pause long enough to suck in another lungful of air, “What’s worse? You _didn’t even look for me_.”

Angelo shakes his head vigorously, “No, you were _dead_. Everyone told me you’d died…I…I’d lost everyone…I just…I wanted to escape from it.”

“So what? You change your name? You don’t even consider that you may not have been the only survivor?” Luce’s voice is low and dangerous, hands on his hips.

Nero steps up to them, “hey, why don’t we try to talk about thi-”

“Stay out of this!” They both snap their heads around in unison.

Hands up defensively, Nero backs off a few paces.

“Why didn’t I see you? When the rescuers picked me up?” Angelo snaps.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe it was a big city, and maybe we walked in opposite directions, and maybe several different refugee groups were working.  So what, the moment you get rescued you forget about your entire family? Don’t even think to ask?” He accuses.

“I was just on the cusp of accepting that my whole family had died when I changed my name!” Angelo argues, “I wanted to put everything I’d been through behind me, stop feeling guilty every day that I survived!”

“Good for you,” Luce snips, “you get to move on and pretend none of us existed, and I got to spend my childhood thinking that if my brother wasn’t dead, he hated me enough to not want to be found.”

“Do you think I wanted to forget any of you?  Every day for years I thought ‘maybe I’ll wake up and none of it will have happened’ and you’d all magically be alive again!”

Luce holds up a hand, “you know what, I’m done.  I’m here for the cadet program, not you.” He picks up his coat and luggage and leaves through the door, letting it slam.

In the void he leaves, Angelo can feel himself shaking, he tries to steady his breathing, his heartrate, but he’s floored.  He clenches his fists, fingernails dig into his palms in an attempt to ground himself in physical pain.

Nero steps closer to him, “Angelo?”

“Don’t,” is all he can manage before he too leaves, letting the door slam.

He sits on his bed in his quarters, head buried in his hands.  _Luce is alive_. _He’s alive and he hates me_.

Outside his door he hears a shuffling sound of someone sitting on the floor.

“Go away Nero,” he shouts, voice coming out more raw and broken than he’d expected.  Like he’d been crying.  Maybe he had.  A couple bouts of hot, angry tears. He doesn’t want to deal with any of it.

An indeterminate amount of time later, his stomach begins growling, and if he’s not quick, he’ll miss out on the good lasagna.  He uncurls himself from the fetal position he didn’t register getting into, and opens his door.

Nero is still sitting outside, head buried in his arms atop drawn-up knees.

Angelo tries to sneak past him, but his drift partner is much too in tune with him to miss anything.

“Hey,” Nero calls out.

Angelo pauses.  Fango always keeps a few good slices of lasagna aside for himself and the other rangers with their erratic schedules.

“Hey,” he echoes.

“I’m sorry,” Nero rises slowly to his feet, keeping his distance, “that didn’t go at all how I’d hoped.”

Angelo hugs his arms around himself, “you and me both.”

Nero walks by him into his room and motions Angelo to take a seat on the bed beside him. He complies, closing the door behind them.

“What do I do?” He asks, “he hates me.”

Nero’s hands are folded in his lap, “he doesn’t hate you.  He’s just a kid, barely eighteen.  I’m sure he’s just as frustrated and confused as you are.”

Angelo hums in agreement, though it doesn’t make him feel much better.

“What can I say?  It’s not like I have the best track record for little brothers either,” Nero jokes.

It’s enough to cause a ghost of a smile to cross Angelo’s face.  He lets his head drop against Nero’s shoulder, sagging into him.

“You’re both hurting,” Nero says, quiet, “it’s not going to be perfect, but I think you should try to talk to him.  You might never be close like brothers, but maybe you can part on amiable terms?”

Angelo looks up at him from where his cheek is squished deep in the fabric of his sweatshirt, eyes a deep ochre. 

“That’s what I suggested you do with Frate,” he mumbles, “I don’t like being on the receiving end of my own advice.”

Nero laughs and nudges him gently in the ribs, “c’mon, we should hurry up and get some dinner, everything else is a tomorrow problem.”

With a weary sigh, Angelo agrees and they head off to the mess hall.

* * *

 

Angelo eats his own words and decides he’s going to work out his brotherly relationship.

He meets a reluctant Luce in the break room graciously lent to him by Corteo and Cerotto.

“Well I’m here,” he announces, feet propped up on another chair as he meticulously opens his juicebox. “What are we talking about?”

Angelo pauses unwrapping his sandwich, “nothing in particular.  We’re just here to talk.”

“That seems lame,” he slurps obnoxiously on the straw.

“In the very least, you’re going to have to tolerate me,” Angelo growls, “you are a cadet after all, and it’s part of the full-time rangers’ job to guide cadets.”

“Oh that’s right, you’re a ranger, you’re _famous_ now,” he mutters, aggressively draining the juicebox. He crushes it when it’s empty and deposits it without finesse onto the table, “you’re on goddamn magazine covers and posters now, I even watched you on a TV talk show.  That’s when I knew for sure it was you.  Also you’re lucky Nero’s so charismatic because you have the personality of a _board_.”

Angelo knows Luce is baiting him, but it still pisses him off. He forces the conversation in a different direction, “Have you made friends with the cadets?”

“Pfft, why would I? I’m better than all of them.  I’ll be moving up in class any time,” he shrugs.

“So humble,” Angelo shakes his head, “we’re definitely related then, as far as our friend-making ability goes.”

“First of all, rude, and second, I did meet someone today,” Luce huffs, “a cute fruit who just got checked out of the medical bay.  I ‘pretended to bump into him’ so I could break the ice.  I started flirting and whatever, and he had the gall to tell me ‘thanks but you’re a little too young for me’.  He thought I was 16.” Luce buries his face in his hands, “Curse this eternal babyface.  Undeterred, I told him I was actually 18 and very legal.  And he told me not to advertise myself as ‘legal’ but anyways I think he likes me.”

“You’re a true romantic,” Angelo deadpans, frowning. “What did he look like?”

“Maybe about your height, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles, really cute freckles.  He looked kinda grumpy too which I am definitely intrigued by,” Luce opens a bag of chips, “why do you ask?”

Angelo lets his head drop against the table as laugher wracks through his frame.

“What’s so funny?” Luce snaps.

“That guy you like…is Frate.”

“And…?”

“Frate Vanetti, Nero’s younger brother,” Angelo breaks down laughing again.

“You’re kidding,” Luce kneads his forehead, “please tell me he’s not a Nero Xerox because he is decidedly _not_ my type.”

“They’re very different people,” Angelo assures, “I don’t really know much about Frate though.”

“Why?”

“He’s had a shitty few months.  He was in a coma,” Angelo explains.

Luce mouths “oh” and continues attacking his bag of chips.

“But I gotta ask,” he chomps through a mouthful of chips, “how did you and Nero happen like…I have a hard time seeing the two of you being friends let alone being drift compatible.”

Angelo takes a long moment to consider why he likes Nero.  It’s not something he’s really put a lot of thought into, their relationship had come together without him meaning, or wanting, it to at first.

“He’s,” Angelo realizes a moment too late how low his bar is set for human beings, “nice to me.”

“Nice?” Luce scoffs, “I’m sure your relationship has nothing to do with that tight ass of his.”

“That,” Angelo has to put in too much effort to keep his voice even, “Is what you’d call a perk.”

It’s Luce’s turn to laugh, and it honestly feels like the most natural thing for the two of them to be conversing amicably over lunch, making each other laugh.   

“Ok but really? Nice to you?  How low are your standards?” He wipes the corners of his eyes.

“Evidently,” Angelo mutters, “very.”

He uncaps his bottled water and takes a long drink before elaborating.

“Nero is…an incredibly kind person. From the very start, he just…genuinely cared for me,” Angelo insists, “always.  Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Wooow,” Luce is nodding, “that’s deep.”  He pauses a long moment for consideration.

“So who tops?”

Angelo chokes on his bottled water.

“C’mon it’s just a question,” Luce looks mildly offended.

When Angelo gets ahold of himself, spending nearly a minute wheezing out offending water droplets from his windpipe, he can only stare at Luce in shock.

“We, we don’t um.  We don’t,” is about all Angelo manages because chief on the list of things as a brother he is not prepared for is the sex talk and yeah he’s getting from his younger brother presently.

“Really?” Luce stares back at him before leaning back in his chair, “Ok, coulda fooled me.”

Their conversations consciously shifts back to safe topics, the weather, the latest Jaeger models, some tips for training.

Luce’s tight cadet schedule allows for a non-awkward termination of their shared lunchtime.  By Angelo’s standards, it had gone perfectly.

“So…next week, same time?” He offers as Luce packs up.

The blonde boy tenses for a moment, then nods, “yeah, sure why not.”

As anticipated, Luce hops from newly-inducted cadet to ranger screening within a week.  Though it puts him in contempt of many of the other newbies, he also levels with the reality that he’s possibly stuck in limbo between being too highly skilled to be a cadet, but lacking the experience many trained rangers in search of drift partners carried. Even so, he’s put into the rotation to spar with available rangers over the course of the next few weeks.  Fortuitously, his first match up is with Frate Vanetti. 

Luce preempts crossing staves with Frate by announcing, “hey I wanted to apologize for flirting with you the other day right after you checked out of the medical bay.  I only got here a few days ago, had I known I would have at least given you a 12 hour grace period before making a move.”

This manages to draw a huff of laughter from Frate, “oh, you mean your terrible attempts at flirting?”

His flirting was _not_ terrible, for the record.  Luce spins his stave, “terrible, possibly, but memorable.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re here now, and you remembered me,” Luce grins.

“I’m also required to look for a drift partner and your name and photo were part of my briefing,” Frate shrugs.

Luce is reasonably deflated by this statement. 

“Then lets begin,” he drops into a fighting stance.

They exchange a couple cautionary bouts, before drawing back to circle one another, analyzing.

“Did…you hear why I was in the medical bay?” Frate asks hesitantly.

“Avilio told me you’d been in a coma,” Luce replies, “that sucks.”

“He didn’t say why?” he looks guarded, shoulders hunching slightly.

Luce shrugs, “nope, didn’t say.  And if it was my business, you’d tell me yourself.”

Frate seems to relax visibly.  He turns the stave in his hand over and over. 

“Things with my last drift partner…it was pretty shitty,” he admits.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Luce readies for another bout but Frate sets his stave down.

“I…To be honest I’ve been ordered to look for a drift partner…I don’t…I don’t even know if I can drift anymore,” his face crumples, hands coming up to cover his eyes.

Luce is barely aware of dropping his own stave before he’s standing in front of Frate, hands lightly running from his shoulder to elbow.  

“Hey, hey, buddy, breathe, ok?” Luce keeps his voice low and soft, reassuring.

“I messed up, I messed up so badly,” he stutters between sobs, “I just wanted to be a good ranger, to be _acknowledged_ and I let him convince me to poison myself-“ he breaks off, shaking.

Luce pulls him close, arms wrapping around his trembling shoulders.  Instantly, Frate snakes his arms around Luce’s waist, crushing him tight.

“I’m probably too broken to drift with anymore,” he sniffles.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Luce hugs him tighter, “you’re not broken, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but a broken person would still be in a coma.  You’re a fighter, you’re recovering, none of this is your fault.”

“Except it is,” his face crumples again, he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Luce ventures in that same, soothing tone.

Frate nods and they take a seat on the edge of the training mats.  He spends a couple minutes composing himself, trying also not to lean too much into the soothing circles Luce traced between his shoulder blades. When he can talk without bursting into tears, the words just start to pour out.  Wanting his father’s approval, Ronaldo, their weak drift connection, the suggestion that it was somehow him dragging down their partnership, the Kaiju “medicine”, his medical emergency and subsequent coma.  Ronaldo, whom he thought was a friend, fleeing at a moment’s notice.

Luce says nothing when he finishes and for that he’s grateful. He nods slowly and continues rubbing his shoulders.

“So I understand if this changes your mind about wanting to drift with me,” his laugh is brittle as he rubs his eyes.

“Hmm? Did I say anything about that?” Luce raises an eyebrow at him.  He exhales deeply and folds his hands in front of him. “Listen, I like you, and more than just as the cutie I flirted with outside the medical bay, ok? And, while we’re talking personal stuff…I know I’m very young for a pilot candidate, and there are probably better choices for you out there.”  He stretches his arms above his head, “that being said, I like you, and I want to try.  I have a feeling we’re compatible, and if I can help you in your recovery, that’s a bonus. I might not be your end-all match, but I like you, so why not give it a go?”

Frate laughs, voice stuffy, “you said you like me three times.”

“Just making sure I got the message across,” he scoffs, crossing his arms.

“If we’re being honest, your flirting wasn’t terrible, I was just taken off guard,” Frate admits with the start of a smile.

“Yeah well you thought I was a child…”

Frate leans over and squishes Luce’s cheeks between his palms, “you have such a baby face though.”

“Ugh I _know_.” Luce growls, “are we gonna practice spar or what?”

Frate laughs for real this time and Luce makes a mental note to try to repeat this phenomenon as often as possible.

He rolls to his feet, “that is, if you think you can keep up _old man_.”

He suddenly finds that his feet are no longer under him, he lands on his knees and is pushed further onto his stomach, one arm pinned beneath him, the other secured behind his back by Frate.  A sturdy shin pins his legs down, rendering him fully immobile.

Frate’s breath is hot at his ear when he teases, “You still have a lot to learn, _cadet._ ”

Luce feels his face flush with excitement as Frate releases him from the pin and pulls him soundly to his feet.

“Ready?” he asks.

A smile spreads across Frate’s lips, “let’s start.”

* * *

 

Luce swaggers into his next lunch date with Angelo looking like he’d won the lottery.

“Did you manage to score a date with Frate?” he asks, already digging into his lasagna.

“Nope, but we sparred as possible drift partners.  I have _good_ feelings about it,” he stabs a straw into his customary juicebox, looking smug.

“Drift partners aren’t generally romantic in nature,” Angelo cautions.

“You and Nero are,” he pouts.

“No we are not.”

Luce snorts and Angelo fears for a moment he’ll be sending artificially sweetened juice concentrate through his nose.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he chokes.

Again, Angelo is forced to tear the conversation away from his personal life.  They manage to chat amicably for a few minutes until Angelo makes the mistake of asking if Luce has holiday plans.

“If at all possible I’d like to have mom and dad come to the Shatterdome for Christmas.  I think we get to choose a holiday to lift family members in, y’know, because we can’t leave the base and whatnot,” he shrugs.

“Mom and dad?” Angelo asks, voice low.

“Uh, yeah, Mr. and Mrs. Moreno, who adopted me, they’re my parents,” Luce pulls a face.

“No, they are not,” Angelo’s expression darkens.

Luce rolls his eyes, “ok sure they’re not my biological parents, but they raised me so…I shouldn’t have to explain this.  I want to see them for the holidays.  You should meet them, they’ll be thrilled that I have a sibling who’s not actually dead-”

“No,” he’s shaking his head, “absolutely not.”

“It’s gonna be awkward, probably, but if we’re trying to work out this family thing, surely our adoptive parents were going to need to meet both of us at some point,” Luce crosses his arms, growing standoffish.

Angelo laughs bitterly, “what adoptive parents?”

Some of the standoffish front drops, “you were never adopted?”

“Why would I have been?” His mind replays a montage of switching foster homes growing up, tossed around the system like a hot potato.  Too sullen, too quiet, too strange, too old.

“It was different for you,” he shakes his head, “you were four, a sweet little kid, who wouldn’t want to adopt you?  I was twelve.  The first thing my foster mom told me was that I probably wouldn’t be adopted.  By the time the paperwork went through for me, I’d be almost thirteen and, her words, ‘no one wants to adopt a teenager’,” his head hangs.

“I didn’t even consider that…” Luce mumbles.

“Of course not.  You probably don’t even remember mom and dad.”

He shakes his head, “not with any clarity.”

Angelo exhales deeply, “I could…I could have tried harder to get adopted, been charming and enthusiastic and happy like the other kids,” he swallows hard, “but I’d just lost my family.  I didn’t want a new one.” He can feel his throat squeeze, voice pitching higher like he might cry.  It’s a response he vehemently pushes down. “You were young enough that starting over with a new family was an option. Not me. I got older and acted out and would run away for days at a time and then get picked up and relocated to a different foster family and a new school,” he feels himself growing frantic, “and it didn’t matter what I did, because ultimately, despite the system and guidance councelor’s best wishes, _no one wanted me_.”

He presses his hands over his face, he will not _will not_ cry in front of his brat little brother.

“Hey, this is good, this is good stuff to unpack ok?” Luce awkwardly pats his forearm from across the table. “And besides, it’s a long time coming, but you know that’s not true anymore.”

“It’s not?” he croaks.

Luce sounds exasperated, “c’mon, don’t let yourself think for one second that Nero doesn’t want you.  There are those science nerds you’re kinda friends with, and…me too I guess.  I know we’re basically strangers but I want to try and do the sibling thing, ok?  Cuz you’re…actually pretty cool.”

“I am?” Angelo seems genuinely surprised.

“I had to analyze your fighting style and it’s pretty great.  Added some much needed strategy to Nero’s fighting style.”

He can’t disagree with that.

They part ways shortly thereafter, Angelo feeling less tumultuous overall. He loses himself in thought and his feet trace a well-worn path to Nero’s quarters.  He lets himself in to find Nero reading a book, frowning slightly in concentration.  Angelo sits down beside him and wraps his arms around Nero, face buried in his shoulder.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” he asks, hating that he feels the need _to_ ask.

“What brought this up?” Nero puts down the book.

“Nothing, I don’t know, a lot of things, things from a long time ago,” he mumbles.

“Emotional baggage?” Nero offers.

Angelo hums in agreement, still glued to Nero’s side. The older man shifts Angelo around so he can more comfortably embrace him back.

“As long as I’m alive, I’ll never leave you,” he murmurs into his hair.

Angelo’s arms cinch tighter around his torso upon hearing those words.

“Don’t say it like that, makes you sound like you’re going to die soon,”

Nero laughs softly, “no, no plans for dying anytime in the near future.”

“Good,” he whispers fiercely.

Angelo stays wrapped in Nero’s arms for long moments, soothed by the steady thrum of Nero’s heartbeat.

“You’re much better at hugs now,” Nero comments.

“What do you mean,” Angelo pulls back far enough to look Nero in the face.

“Before, well, before I knew you, you’d always tense up if I hugged you, it was like you turned into a cardboard cutout of yourself, really awkward,” he bops the tip of Angelo’s nose with his own.

Angelo rolls his eyes, cheeks dusted pink. He disentangles himself and shifts until he’s curled up on Nero’s bed, head resting comfortably in Nero’s lap.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

“ _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ ,” Nero replies.

“Don’t you get enough sea monsters?”

“It’s a classic,” he scoffs.

“Fine,” Angelo smiles, “read to me about Captain Nemo.”

Nero starts from where he left off, voice carrying softly through the enclosed room.  He reaches down and runs his hand through Angelo’s hair, somewhat expecting resistance. Finding none, he continues.

“Your hair is so soft,” he remarks.

“Pretty sure that’s not part of the dialogue,” Angelo snorts. He seems to consider for a second, “it’s getting long, I’m thinking of undercutting it again, maybe trim the top.”

“You should leave the top fluffy,” Nero pleads, ruffling his hair to punctuate.

Angelo presses his hands over his face, “if it makes you happy.”

Nero resumes reading until he feels himself drifting off.  It’s barely ten, but he’s tired, and upon checking his partner, Angelo appears to have fallen asleep a while ago, head pillowed on one of his thighs. He gently shifts Angelo’s sleeping form over enough so he can pull out a blanket.  Lying down beside Angelo, he pulls the covers over them both.

“Guess you’re sleeping over again,” Nero chuckles, “don’t worry, I submitted an application for a duo room, and I have a pretty good feeling we’re going to be approved.”

Angelo shifts slightly in his sleep, unconsciously closer to Nero.  The older man in turn watches Angelo’s soft, slumbering face until he too finds sleep.

* * *

 

A horrid, blaring alarm rouses both from their slumber.

Conditioned to the sound, Nero jolts awake, shaking Angelo lightly.

His drift partner grumbles and tries to better bury himself under the covers.

“Time to get up,” he takes a traitorout peek at the clock across the room, it’s roughly 3 am. “A kaiju has been spotted.”

Angelo conceeds, pulling himself out of bed.  They hustle down to the control room where the _Tigerfox_ and _Mudsnake_ teams were assembled.

“They’re sending all three strikers out, it’s a single Kaiju, pretty run of the mill but the Marshal doesn’t want to take chances,”Volpe summarizes, “also congrats Nero, you’re squad captain for the fight.”

“I’m always captain,” he grumbles, focusing in on the screen where a tiny ominous blip indicates the trajectory of the Kaiju.

“You’ve got more Jaeger training than most of us combined,” Tigre shrugs.

He sighs, “alright then.  _Tigerfox,_ you’re our strongest meelee fighter, you’re going to engage the Kaiju and slow its progress.  _Mudsnake_ , you’re a newer team so I want you to stick to the periphery, don’t let the Kaiju get past you and engage if the _Tigerfox_ looks like it’s in trouble.  The _Goliath_ will also engage up close, and try to keep the Kaiju down with our plasma canons.  This should be easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy,” Tigre snorts.

Fango looks reasonably disappointed to not be allowed directly into the bloodbath but Nero knows he can trust Serpente to keep him in check.

Angelo nudges Nero’s elbow, “what now?”

“The _Goliath’s_ plasma cannons are going to need a few minutes to calibrate so we’ll be deploying later than the others,” Nero puts his hands on Angelo’s shoulders, an easy, reassuring gesture.

“So you can swoop in and claim victory like that one time,” Fango shouts over from where he’s being fitted into a suit.  He finally conceeded to trimming back his ridiculous bob of hair to a shorter cut, one that didn’t obscure his vision in the jager helmet.

Volpe claps a hand on Nero’s shoulder as he moves to be suited up, “I think your personal goal this time should be to not destroy your jaeger.”

“Hey that was _one time_ , and it was all Avilio’s idea!” Nero complains.

“You still agreed to it,” Angelo teases, wrapping his arms around Nero’s waist.

It takes Nero a moment to process Angelo’s overt display of affection until Barbero appears in his peripheral vision, sleep deprived and more irritated upon seeing Angelo.

“We’re doing a standard formation, _Tigerfox_ meelee, _Goliath_ mixed meelee and ranged, _Mudsnake_ handling the periphery,” he summarizes.

Barbero nods stiffly and begins typing the information into the control panel for records.

Nero and Angelo are called to be suited up.

“What if,” Nero suggests, “you _didn’t_ torment Barbero anymore?”

“But he’s such an easy target,” Angelo deflects.

“Exactly, and that’s no fun for you, too easy.”

“Is it really no fun?” He asks. After a beat, “I suppose it’s not fair, I’ve already won anyways.”

Nero accepts a helmet from one of the engineers and Angelo mirrors him.

He pinches Angelo’s cheek with a gloved hand, “what was that? I’m just some prize to be won?”

“No…” he grumbles as they enter the elevator up to the cockpit of the _Goliath_.

“Then be nice,” Nero chides.

Angelo rolls his eyes and puts on his helmet.  Through the visor Nero hears a muffled, defeated, “fine.”

A group of bleary eyed cadets await them as they enter the jaeger, their preceptor droning about standard jaeger proceedures to a barely-awake audience.  Within the sea of faces Angelo zero’s in on Luce’s blonde head.  He makes eye contact with Angelo and raises him a thumbs up. 

For the first time since he was twelve, Angelo feels like the older brother Luce used to look up to.  He nods and raises a thumbs up back to him.  Frate stands beside Luce, looking even more grumpy than the rest.

They enter the cockpit of the _Goliath_ , strap in, and fall into the drift.

The fight is simple, though the kaiju does manage to pummel through a handful of buildings before the _Goliath’_ s plasma cannons and the _Tigerfox’s_ arm swords.

“All teams, power down your jeaeger, we’re going to engage in a standard rescue proceedure.  The area should have been evacuated, but we’ll check for survivors anyways,” Nero announces over the radio.

He and Angelo disengage from their teathers.

“You did good out there,” Nero smiles.

Angelo scoffs, “so did you.”

Nero squeezes his shoulder, grinning broadly, before climbing out of the cockpit.

The younger man feels a slight pit forming in his stomach.  Any doubt he might have had about Nero has evaporated.  He needs to tell him –

 

He chases after Nero, already on the ground level.

“Nero! Wait!” he shouts.

His partner snaps to attention, “what’s wrong?”

Angelo slows to a stop in front of Nero, panting. “It’s…It’s fine it’s nothing um…”

Nero watches him closely, confused but simultaneoulsy, expectant.

“Actually, it’s not nothing,” Angelo steels himself, letting any vestiges of doubt or hesitation peel away.

He seizes Nero by the shoulders and drags him downward.  Instead of a dramatic, cinematic kiss, all he really gets is his forehead smashed in.  Apparently, those kiss scenes only worked because both parties were in on the directions.

But Nero catches on quickly enough.

Angelo slides his hands up to cup Nero’s jaw and, gently this time, draws his face close.  His partner’s eyes have already fluttered shut and Angelo spends a couple moments negotiating space, bumping noses with Nero until he finally reaches a good angle.  His hand slides up to grip Nero’s hair as he finally crushes their mouths together. Nero matches his moves, hands strategically placed at Angelo’s waist and supporting his neck.  He kisses Nero with an all consuming fire, eyes squeezed tight, like it’s the first and last time he’ll be able to do so. Nero opens against him, letting Angelo take the lead, but reciprocating with the same fervor. He tilt’s Nero’s head more for a better, deeper angle, trying to taste and feel as much as he can with layers of solid armor separating their physical forms. He knows Nero saw everything in the drift, but he needs him to know here too, in the visceral world.

Angelo pulls away from Nero abruptly, both gasping for air.  His fingers curl over the smooth panels covering Nero’s shoulders.

“I do love you,” Angelo pants.  He must be a sight, sweaty and disheveled from the fight, cheeks and lips pink from his sudden burst of passion.

Nero seems to digest his words, “I’m glad,” he smiles, “and I would also hope so, seeing as you just kissed me on camera, for a live broadcast.” He cups Angelo’s jaw gently with his gloved hands.

“Cameras?” he manages faintly.

“Look around, there are always cameras after a Kaiju battle that ends in a city,” Nero turns and waves to the handful of reporters who must have gathered sometime between the fight ending and their feverish kissing.

Angelo flushes deeper than he thought possible and hides his face against Nero’s chest.”

“Don’t worry,” Nero reassures, “I’m good at smoothing things over with the press.  And from what I’ve seen, this will really only be confirming what they thought has been going on for weeks.”

Angelo finds himself nodding, temporary relief erased when he sees Luce standing in with the reporters, probably adding Angelo’s chagrin to his social media.  He wolf-whistles at them.

Angelo is truly never going to live this down.

“I think we’ve given the press more than enough fodder for one day,” Nero slings his arm around Angelo’s shoulders, “ready to head back to the giant robot?”

“More like more than enough for one lifetime,” he mutters and follows Nero back to the _Goliath_.

* * *

 

The next day Angelo finds Nero with a half dozen magazines spread out on his floor, scissors and glue stick in hand.

“Arts and crafts?” he asks skeptically, taking a seat on Nero’s bed and away from the mess.

“Yeah, thought I’d start a new chapter,” he smiles, gesturing with his chin to the singular collage hanging on his wall.

Angelo takes a closer look at the magazines and sees grainy images of himself dragging Nero down for what most people probably assumed was an indecent kiss (it was).

He picks up one and immediately regrets it, seeing the amount of speculation regarding the more personal aspects of their relationship.

“This is filthy,” he announces.

“Yeah, but they can speculate all they want.  Just hope they don’t grab Luce for an interview.  I feel like he’d be all too willing to extemporize on the…” Nero grasps for words.

“Gory details?”  Angelo supplies.

“Bingo,” he flashes finger guns before going back to meticulously cutting out headlines, arranging them for least to most ridiculous in a frame around the edge of a poster board.

“One good thing did come from all this,” Nero slides a magazine in Angelo’s direction.

The cover had to have been photo-shopped significantly, for clarity alone, but it’s the image of Angelo and Nero kissing, reduced to silhouettes with the sunset illuminating the smoldering carcass of the Kaiju behind them.  The headline reads “Love Wins”.

“Oh,” Angelo traces a finger around their combined silhouettes.

“That’s going front and center in the frame,” Nero takes it back and resumes cutting and pasting.

Angelo shakes his head and leaves Nero to his crafts, opting instead to lie on top of the covers of Nero’s bed.

A short time later, he hears rustling as Nero cleans up his mess, a completed collage drying, resting against the wall. He closes his eyes briefly, only to snap them open when he feels the bed dip on either side of him.  Nero straddles him on all fours, staring down at Angelo.

“It’s really difficult to work with you like this,” he says lowly.

“I literally wasn’t doing anything,” Angelo frowns slightly.

Nero presses his face into the mattress space next to Angelo’s head, “it’s not fair you don’t even know how attractive you are.”

He sighs dramatically, “oh as if you’re not the most handsome man in the entire Shatterdome with hundreds of people secretly pining after you.”

His head pops up again, “you think I’m handsome?”

“No I think you’re an idiot,” Angelo brings his hands up to cup Nero’s jaw and draws him downward.  He kisses Nero swiftly but deeply, sweeping his mouth just long enough for a taste before pulling back.

“What was that for?” Nero gasps.

“That’s one thing the media can’t have,” Angelo mutters fiercely and kisses Nero again, shallow and slower, “and another,” a third kiss, “and another.”

Nero catches on and slides his hands behind Angelo’s head, cradling him at a better angle for the both of them. He kisses him like he had yesterday, deeply passionate, but now unhurried by the heat of the moment.

Maybe some of the tabloids weren’t too far off, because after a couple minutes of somewhat innocent kissing their hands begin to roam.  Angelo decides to acquaint himself with Nero’s, admittedly, really nice, back muscles, skimming his hands over the thinly clothed area covered by a tank top and settling on the bare skin of his lower back where it had already begun to hitch upward.  He begins to accelerate that process.

Nero pauses, hands already underneath Angelo’s (actually _his_ ) sweatshirt, skimming lightly up his sides, “Wait, are we…moving too fast?  You only just realized you liked me yesterday.”

Angelo makes a frustrated sound, halting his progress in ridding Nero of his tank top.

“If we move any slower, I’m going to be an old man before I get laid,” he growls, “that and I’m an idiot for not realizing sooner.”

“By most standards…we’ve been dating for months,” Nero adds slowly, allowing Angelo to finish removing his tank top, “this is the next logical step.”

“That’s the spirit,” he wastes little time in moving his hands up to explore the planes of Nero’s bare chest, something he’d seen on plenty of occasions, but never had been given the chance to really appreciate. He can feel Nero’s pulse thrumming just under the skin as he drags his fingers through the sparse hair between his pectorals.

Nero interrupts him long enough to whip his sweatshirt off, sending it flying across the room. He runs his hands up the length of Angelo’s spine, calloused fingers against his smooth skin making the younger man shudder. He dips his head down and begins pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the base of Angelo’s neck.

“A bit eager, aren’t we,” Angelo pants.

Nero responds by trailing his fingertips down the curve of his lower back, humming against the reddened, slick skin of his neck. Angelo groans, curling into the touch.

He lays Angelo back against the bed, kissing the sensitive skin of his collarbones.  Curious hands roam over his abdomen, tracing the lithe muscles to the waistband of his sweatpants.  Angelo retreats his hands from their exploration of Nero’s torso to grip his shoulders. 

Another indecent sound escapes Angelo’s mouth as Nero begins pressing a trail of hot, sucking, open mouthed kisses down the length of his chest while his hands make short work of Angelo’s waistband.

“Actually,” Angelo gasps slightly, breath stuttering, “speculation gets boring fast.  We might as well give the press something to _really_ talk about…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done :) pray for my soul for finals

**Author's Note:**

> If grad school stops kicking my butt for a hot minute I have a few extras planned (science bros, and a chapter from Angelo's perspective).


End file.
